Cult of the Dragon King
by Iced Blood
Summary: Book Three, Chapter Two: The gauntlet is thrown, and the head of the Kaiba family heads off his home turf to begin the most unlikely mission in his long and storied life so far: collect the six remaining Millennium Items.
1. The People's God

**_Welcome, one and all, to a very important project._**

**_Some time ago, I started posting a little experiment I called, "Shifting Images." This was a story written for a contest. The goal? To write 250,000 words in two months. Did I accomplish this feat? Why, yes. Yes, I did. But there are a lot of sacrifices to be made in order for a single story of that length in such a short amount of time. I needed something that would last a long time, and I needed something that I could write with little trouble. I opted to work out a story that I've been working out since I was about thirteen years old. That's ten years ago, for those playing the home game. A lot of work went into this revamp, but there were a lot of mistakes, too._**

**_After a lot of hard thought, I've decided that there are just too many mistakes in "Shifting Images." Characterization, plotting, development, research, you name it. It's all pretty...well, bad. I do hope that the chapters I've posted were enjoyable to those of you who read them, but you deserve better. The story deserves better. And so, I present to you this._**

**_This is the plot and characters of "Shifting Images," given the time and effort they deserve._**

**_Welcome, my faithful audience, to my personal mythology._**

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

_11__th__ of April, 2007_

* * *

"Good afternoon, everyone."

There were a few mumbled responses, as per usual at this time of day. This class, she thought, was only surpassed by her first, at 7 AM, in terms of student sluggishness; it was just after lunch for most of these people, and either they had eaten too quickly or too much. More than a few, she was sure, had not eaten at all. In the end, it amounted to the same thing: they weren't paying attention.

She smiled accommodatingly, but a flash of cold authority met her ice-blue eyes when she said again, louder and with a sharper edge, _"Good afternoon, everyone."_

"Good afternoon, Doctor Ishtar," came a much more alert response from the group in front of her, and now her smile softened into an authentically pleasant—and pleased—expression. She set her bag onto the desk just to her left and nodded to herself. Yes, it took a bit of prodding to get their attention, but she'd gotten used to that. It wasn't something she actually made a very big deal of, but she made it seem as if she did. She did not seek to intimidate, but when it happened, it usually ended up beneficial both to herself and her students.

"I am going to spend today going over a subject with which most of you should be familiar," she said as she passed the roll sheet out and began to pace the room in front of her desk. This was something that was a marked difference between Isis Ishtar and many of her fellow instructors at the Westridge Community College of Domino City: she did not write on the whiteboard provided to her, nor did she deal with presentations using the projector and computer that were also provided to her.

Isis preferred to let her lectures speak for themselves.

And more often than not, they did.

"How many of you," she began, "are familiar with the name Osiris?"

Most of the class raised their hands. Good. With luck, anybody with even a rudimentary interest in the subject of Egyptology would have done some amount of self-motivated research; but she felt it prudent to ask because in every class she found at least a few students hoping for an easy grade to boost their GPA, and who had little to no actual interest in anything she had to say; with those few, Isis was often brutal. Some of the more poetic of those—former—students had dubbed her the "ice queen," which she found amusing.

"Most of you," she noted. "Good. Well, for those of you who are not, or for those of you who have not researched in a while," she continued, "I will give a brief overview. Osiris, which is the name given by the Greeks to the god previously known as Asar, was one of the Middle Kingdom's chief deities, associated most closely with vegetation, rebirth and, most prominently, the judgment of the dead. Theorized by some to have begun as a mortal king, Osiris was killed by his brother—Set, or Sutekh—and resurrected as the Lord of the Underworld."

A raised hand. "So is Osiris like Hades? Or Satan?"

Isis shook her head. "Not Satan, certainly not, and Hades is not a fair comparison, either, though it may seem this way on the surface. As Lord of the Underworld, Osiris was an authority figure, not a god of evil. Death to the Ancient Egyptians was not the hellish endeavor modern interpretation seems intent on making it, but rather a stepping stone in the long, arguably eternal, road of existence. Many people make the mistake of thinking that the Egyptians _revered_ death, actually, although that is untrue. The reason for this misconception is that artifacts linked with the dead are the most widely preserved articles of Egyptian history. These are a people who _respected _death, but they did not worship it. Most of you should know the importance of Egypt's innovations in the field of embalming."

A series of nods.

Isis began to pace the room, as was her habit, and she always found it pleasing that most of the group before her were following her movements. She clasped her hands behind her back and said, "The preservation of the dead was a pivotal aspect of Ancient Egyptian religion, and so those artifacts dealing with death, meant to last for eternity, have lasted the longest."

"Isn't Anubis the god of the Underworld?" someone asked.

"Anubis was the god of embalming."

"Anubis is the one who embalmed Osiris when he was killed, right?"

"That is correct. So yes, Anubis and Osiris are very closely linked, but they are not the same god, nor are their realms of influence interchangeable. Consider the close association with surgery as compared to nursing. Is any nurse thus a surgeon? No. But, the professions are linked, and both are necessary for a hospital to run properly. So is the underworld of Ancient Egyptian belief both dependant on Anubis and Osiris."

Comprehension dawned on more than a few faces. Isis's smile widened.

"My namesake," she said, "Isis—also known as Auset—was Osiris's queen and sister." At the chorus of groans, she added: "This is a common happening with Egyptian gods, and the hierarchy of Egyptian royalty as well. Isis was also instrumental in the resurrection of Osiris, leading to his eventual influence over the fields of Aaru, the sacred reed fields, the name given by the Egyptians to the convention of heaven."

Here, Isis thought, her compatriots might begin writing bullet points to cover the lecture, giving the names of the gods and goddesses in question. But Isis found that doing that only crippled the students, as they spent more time waiting in preparation to write down the bullet points than listening to her. By having each individual student write his or her _own _bullet points, Isis enforced a necessity to listen to everything, just in case it might be important.

Indeed, the vast majority of the people in front of her were hunched over the tables they sat behind, scratching notes into their notebooks. A few were simply sitting there, listening, and Isis had figured from the start—and she had been correct—that these were the sort to believe they could study by osmosis; they figured it simply a requirement to listen in order to absorb the information. More than a few of this select group were sadly mistaken in that assumption.

Except one.

One young woman had the relaxed posture and severe concentration of what Isis called a lazy genius. Teresa Lundwin had one of the highest grades in any of her classes, and Isis had never seen her write down a single word. She had a detached, almost disdainful look about her, and kept the thin pair of glasses she wore on the tip of her nose because she fully intended—and enjoyed—having people think she was looking down on them; she usually _was_. She was tall. Her dirty blond hair was often simply swept back away from her face, then left to fall naturally where it would; so long as it did not obscure her vision, it seemed Teresa didn't much care how her hair looked.

She had reminded Isis quite forcefully, from the beginning, of a young man she had not thought of in over a year. She had once entertained the idea of introducing this confusing, remarkable young woman to the prodigious head of the Kaiba Corporation, if only for the entertainment value of seeing the two of them take great pains to ignore one another. But so far, she had not done such a thing. No doubt Seto Kaiba would pay no attention to anything Isis had to say, and she had a feeling that Teresa would be disinterested as well.

They were cut from the same misanthropic cloth.

"Osiris was known as the 'people's god,'" Isis continued, eyeing Teresa, "because it was through him that the common people finally found an avenue into eternity. Before the cult of Osiris, the afterlife was reserved only for those chosen by the gods; the kings and their courts. But through Osiris, the common Egyptians found a path to paradise that only required a good, virtuous life, proper funeral rights, and the worship of the god. Any just, proper person of Osiris's fold, who knew the proper rituals and had them performed at his or her funeral, could enter Aaru through the judgment of the people's god. It is because of this—"

The phone hanging on the wall just behind her interrupted her thought with its shrill cry, and Isis turned to regard it with some amount of anger. Irritated, she gestured sharply to her class with a quick, "Please, excuse me," and strode over to the device, snatching it from its cradle and putting it to her ear.

"Yes?" she asked snappishly, crossing her arms as she held the handset to her ear with one shoulder. "What is it?"

"_Sister."_

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Isis blinked, surprised, and straightened. "Malik? What is it? I've just begun a lecture; you should know—"

"_The rod, Sister," _came her brother's voice, cold and foreboding, sounding as if the words were simply tumbling out of his mouth in a torrent. _"It has returned to me. I don't know how, but it came to me. I found it…Rishid and I were simply going over the contents of the refrigerator, deciding what to buy at the store this afternoon, and…and there it _was._ Just leaning against the carton of creamer as if it belonged there."_

If this news had not been troubling enough, then the tone of her younger brother's voice was enough to send a chill down Isis's spine. He sounded like a mixture of a superstitious child and a recovering alcoholic walking into a bar; he was frightened, not just by the artifact that should have been gone forever, but by the siren's call it projected to him.

"…Hold on," she said quickly, noting that the class was staring at her, having detected the sudden fear that was chilling her own blood as much as it was Malik's. "I…I'm coming home. This can't be discussed over the phone."

"_Yes. That would be best. I did not wish to interrupt you, but…"_

"No. You were right to contact me. I'll be home in ten minutes. Wait for me, Malik."

She hung up without waiting for her brother's response and turned back to the class. "Unfortunately, I have a…family emergency. Class is dismissed for now. Cover the material in chapter 34-B in preparation for next meeting. That is all."

She heard the cacophony of shifting bodies as the students gathered up their things, not about to argue with an early dismissal, as she shot out of the room. She quickly made her way to the nearest elevator and waited a small eternity as it made its way to her floor. Her thoughts were moving too quickly to make any sense as she rode to the fourth floor of the building. She rushed to her office and gathered her keys, realizing remotely that she had left everything else she needed in the classroom, but hardly caring.

She was about to turn and leave, already thinking of where her car was parked in the nearest lot, already halfway home in her own mind, until she saw something that stopped her dead. Thought ceased as quickly as a switch, and the coldness tingling in her spine dropped to freezing.

There, sitting on her desk, where there had been nothing but a desktop calendar and a blue marker only a moment ago, lay the gleaming, glinting, hauntingly familiar loop of solid gold that she had worn about her neck for years.

The Millennium Tauk.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

It seemed a species of compromise that she drove home with the ancient necklace sitting almost innocently in the front passenger seat of her vehicle.

Isis had been sorely tempted to simply leave it in her office, even as her hands had instinctively reached for it. As often as she had used the artifact in the past, she hadn't realized until seeing it again how much of a relief it had been to be shed of it. It had been a burden, a weight, a...a drug, she thought suddenly, remembering how Malik had sounded on the phone.

Yes...that was it. A drug. The tauk—and its attendant abilities—had been like a drug to her, entirely necessary for her to properly function for so many years, yet at the same time crippling her. And for some time, she had dared to think that Yugi Mutou, that remarkable boy who had inherited the Millennium Puzzle, had lifted that addiction from her. And she had grown accustomed to the pleasant _normality _of life without it.

And now here it was, like some sort of golden boomerang, returned to her. And not only the tauk, but the rod as well, the device her younger brother had used in his rise to power in the black market; and indeed, it was only the thought of Malik that gave her the strength to simply lift the tauk from its place on her desk and carry—not wear—it out to her car; for as much as she hated the thing now, she felt an addict's inexplicable, masochistic draw to it. It was still familiar, it was still _hers_, and although she wanted so much to deny it, she wanted _very_ much to wear it again.

She could only imagine how much harder it had been for Malik, who had indulged in his item's power far more deeply and drunkenly than Isis had ever dared, to ignore the beckoning of the Millennium Rod and call for her.

Isis pulled up to the apartment complex where she lived with her brothers and threw open the driver's-side door, right arm reaching over and gripping the Millennium Tauk before her conscious mind even made the connection to what she was doing. Just feeling the cool metal in her palm—as she snaked her fingers around it in a painful, caressing grip—sent electricity through her that was at once delightful and horrid. She wondered, as she walked, how she had managed to use it for as long as she had. How she had been able to feel its cold embrace about her neck without feeling the underlying _wrongness _that it now triggered in her mind.

_There's something wrong about this, _she thought, and at once reprimanded herself for such a pointlessly redundant observation. Of _course _something was wrong! The tauk was no longer her responsibility! It had been passed to Yugi, to the spirit of the Forgotten King, and the only way for it to have come back to her was if—

A shriek of pain caused Isis to jump as she reached the door to her apartment, and she exploded past it without even taking the time to realize that it hadn't been locked. "Master Malik!" Rishid cried from the kitchen, his scratchy voice bouncing through the room, reverting in sudden fear to the title he had given his younger brother so long ago, and Isis nearly skidded into him as the carpet gave way to tile.

Malik lay sprawled on the floor, head bent upward against the cupboards beneath the central counter in their small kitchen, clutching his right hand and cursing through clenched teeth. Isis fell to her knees next to him. "Malik! What happened?"

The former tomb-keeper looked up at his sister through the curtain of his platinum blond bangs, and gave an angry smirk that was almost a sneer. He chuckled humorlessly and showed his wounded hand, the fingers of which were severely burned, smoke curling up from the nearly blackened skin.

"Apparently..." he hissed, still with that sneering grin on his face, "...the rod has decided...I am unworthy to hold it. Sister. I...cannot say I...am altogether unpleased...by that...except...that it..._fucking..._hurts!"

Isis's head snapped upward, and looked at the open refrigerator. There it sat, in all its deadly splendor: the artifact called the Destroyer of Minds, the Needle, God's Finger, but which she had only ever called by its true name: the Millennium Rod.

The artifact looked to be glowing with heat, smoldering, hot enough to have melted if it had been crafted of simple gold. Isis looked down at the second Millennium Item, lying cool and dormant in her hand, and frowned.

"You...know what this means," Malik said, regaining his composure enough to pull himself into a sitting position, laying his injured hand palm up on his leg. Isis looked at him, and his lavender eyes were hard, icy, but most of all afraid.

Isis whispered, "The nameless king has failed."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

**_This is what I consider a prologue to the larger work, and so I feel it's proper to put in a few notes here. One, this work is based on the second-series anime, "Duel Monsters." On the heels of that, I would also like to mention that I have moved Domino City from its place in Japan to my home state of California. This is a common thread in all of my YGO work, based on a few things: the dub lends credence to this (I know, 4Kids ruined a lot of what made this series worth watching, but I beg that you let me have this), and I want to be able to portray things authentically here. Being as how I have yet to take a trip to Japan, I must regretfully admit that I have no bloody clue how to write a proper Japanese metropolis._**

**_Another thing to note: there will be a lot of references to Egypt in this story. Mythology, history, culture, anything I can get my hands on. I'm a recent fan of Egyptology, you see, and I hope to integrate any knowledge I can absorb into this work. If I deliver any faulty information, I would very much like to know about it. I want, first and foremost, for this story to be accurate in its depictions. So I'm open to any and all corrections. So long as you keep it civil. Please?_**

**_To those of you who followed Images to its unfortunate demise, I beg that you give this one a chance. Trust me, it'll be worth it in the long run._**

**_I'll see you next time._**


	2. We Have the Technology

_**When I first decided that "Shifting Images" needed a facelift, I really didn't know what I was getting into. I still don't, in all honesty. It's a fickle thing, difficult to plan out and visualize. If I were to guess the primary hang-up, it would be that Images began as a pure fantasy, one that I didn't intend to post and so one to which I didn't apply my usual filter. Add to that the sheer magnitude of the project (the original was the longest thing I've ever written, and this version is shaping up to be longer), and...well, call it stage fright.**_

_**Still, I'm gonna give it a go. I just hope that you can be patient with me. I mentioned in the last update to "Paved with Good Intentions" that I've been having a lot of personal issues lately, and they've made it difficult to write in general, much less write projects that intimidate me.**_

_**As mentioned, the first chapter was a prologue. This is where things really start.**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Verse One.  
**

**

* * *

**

_14__th__ of August, 2007_

* * *

There was no gradual process. For him, there was no process at all.

He simply..._began._

Later, much later, he would liken this moment to how a computer must feel when it is turned on for the first time. No memory of the immediate past, no memory of _anything_ past that critical point when the switch is flicked and the monitor blinks, and all that matters is the work ahead. Only, he would say in following the metaphor, this is a new computer with an old hard drive, cleaned but not formatted. Memories of the distant past remained stationed like guards in the back of a room, doing their best to look inconspicuous but only drawing attention to themselves for the effort.

He reached, in much the way he always reached—with his mind—and tried to grasp those memories. Some part of him thought that it shouldn't work. A flicker of his past humanity told him that thoughts didn't work that way. Memories didn't work that way. And yet, when he reached, he found them. They played out behind his eyelids; his life, his triumphs, his mistakes—oh, God, his mistakes—like a documentary. No. No, no, too painful. Go away. Damn you all, _go away!_

And for a wonder, they did.

A single command, just like always, and they disappeared.

He opened his eyes.

At first, he didn't know what it was that he saw (or rather, he _did _know what he saw, but couldn't make sense of it), and that was wrong. He knew everything there was to know about his existence; he knew every mile, every foot, every inch, every _molecule _of the world in which he lived (inasmuch as one could call it a world, and could call what he did in it living). He knew because it was so easy to know. Reach, grasp, know. It was as easy as pulling forward, pulling and dissecting and inspecting, and he had done it for years. He had done it for so long that knowledge itself felt meaningless now, and so even though he was confused and somewhat troubled by his _lack _of knowledge of the particular place he found himself, he was also strangely exhilarated.

Something _new._

By the grace of God, this was something _new!_

He sat up, slowly realizing that he was lying on a bed. That was strange. He didn't remember lying down. Why would he bother? He didn't _need _to sleep, so why would he be…? He looked down, lifting up one arm to glance at the not-so-comfortable surface where he sat, but then his focus was drawn to the arm itself.

It was bare.

More than that…it was longer than it should have been. Thicker. _Bigger._ He flexed the muscles of this alien appendage, mesmerized, and found something _else _that was new. He realized suddenly, as his eyes drifted up the arm and to the fist clenched atop it, that as he unfurled his fingers one by one, he actually _felt _the difference. And when he curled them back into a fist, he felt that, too.

On impulse, he brought that fist slamming down onto the mattress.

It didn't hurt. Of course it didn't. But…impact. An impact. Holy hell, there was…there was…!

Staring, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he brought his other hand, still new to him but clearly the twin of the other, and pinched his skin between two fingers. He felt true, honest pain for the first time in ten years. He flinched, surprised and hypnotized and…and suddenly euphoric. He felt the muscles of his face pull his lips into a grin, and it felt _right. _Yes…yes, this was _it_…this was what he…what he…

What he'd missed.

What could a god possibly want? In a world where any and every aspect of reality could be bent to one's will…what could there be to desire? He had been such a thing. Such a…such a creature, in a world that was his own, a reality that was bent to his mind and tied to his whim. Yes, he had been a god. A false god, true, but a god nonetheless. And what could he have missed? What possibly could there have been? He had asked himself this question, had pored over this mystery for the better part of so many years, after the thrill of omnipotence had begun to wane.

And now he knew.

What he had been missing…was _this._

This intangible, unmistakable, irreplaceable sense of _self. _This sharp, hard, vibrant _realness _that permeated through him and _sang _in his nerves. He pinched his arm again, felt the twitch of pain, and looked around himself, still grinning. Oh, yes, he had been a god. But neither he nor his father (his genius father) had ever been able to recreate _this. _

He swung his new legs out from under the sheet that covered his lower half, and spent a good amount of time studying them. They were not his own…and yet, just the same, they _felt _like his own. He touched them, ran his new hands over his new skin, reveling in the sensation of touch. Yes…this was right. The grin widened on his new face, this face that he could feel, and he stood up.

He began to walk, and laughed when he realized that he didn't remember how. He stumbled, caught himself on the bed, and tried again. Remembering took longer than he had thought it might, but so ingrained was the ability that he managed to recall it after only a few tries. And so he walked, surveying this room, this new room. The walls were white, and the one to his right was dominated by a huge mirror. When he saw it, he stopped.

Thunderstruck.

He was not looking at himself. This was not his body. And yet…somehow it _was. _He was tall, about five-foot-eleven. His form was lean, not muscular but not unhealthy; his skin was a slightly pale pink, and his face was sharp. Bright, light blue eyes watched him from the shadow of thick, light brown bangs. He lifted one of his new hands again, and wiped those bangs to the side. They fell back into place.

He thought that he looked familiar. But not in the way that he should have; the way that one's reflection is supposed to be familiar. That confused him, mostly because he couldn't remember the person he _did _recognize in his alien reflection. Why was it not himself? That was absolutely ridiculous! Who else would he look like, if not himself?

He continued to stare, dropping his hand to his side again, and frowned. His eyes drifted down the body in which he found himself, like some new outfit that he had been dressed in while he'd been…sleeping? Was _that _what…? No. No, it was deeper than sleep. More like…a coma, he thought suddenly. Yes. That fit better. A coma.

And now? Had he finally regained consciousness, after so many years? Had he woken up from a long sleep, and would he find now that the entire world had changed? His blue eyes—those, at least, he remembered from his _old _self—widened as he continued to take in the image being projected to him. This…foreign image of a man he'd never seen.

Had he…_truly _awoken?

Was he…_really _conscious?

By God, was _that _why…why…?

He couldn't finish the thought. His mind reeled, and he stumbled back a step in sheer shock. He fell back onto the bed with a grunt. He kept thinking, _Oh God, oh God, oh God, _wondering in some distant, detached way if he dared to believe it. What if he was wrong? What if he _wasn't…_and…and…

Oh, God.

That was the only coherent thought he could conjure, and even that wasn't particularly clear. It was the fevered mantra of a man ready to faint. It was a good thing he was already sitting down, or his new legs would have given out and he would have ended up on the floor.

Oh, God.

And then a door opened, from just behind him, and he turned. Two men entered the white room, one taking excited, almost jerking little steps and the other long, purposeful, confident strides. The excited one was dressed in clean and pressed but simple slacks, and a white coat over a powder blue button-down shirt. He looked like a doctor or a scientist. Or both.

The other, the strider, was swathed in pristine, meticulous black cloth, a midnight-shadow suit and a navy blue shirt cut in half by a stripe of black tie so that it looked like the fangs of some indigo serpent. He wore gleaming black leather shoes that clicked curtly on the hard floor as regularly as a perfectly calibrated clock.

He looked like a government operative.

It was this second that caught his attention; caught it, held it, strangled it. And as he looked at the face, angular and sharp and eerily familiar in several more ways than one; as he stared into clear, vibrant, almost angrily bright cobalt eyes, he began to understand. His banished memories returned, and he began to comprehend. To realize. And the mouth on his new face gaped open.

_God…_

* * *

**Verse Two.**

**

* * *

**

It was perhaps the clearest mark of his character that he seemed almost entirely disinterested as he strode into the hospital room where his own personal miracle was just beginning to wake up.

When Seto Kaiba had begun recruiting a specialized, hand-chosen, team of individuals to begin the project that would later come to be known as "Neo-Lazarus" (not by him, no, never by him; Kaiba-shachou wouldn't have bothered with such a nickname, or _any _nickname for that matter), almost all of them had thought that the young, prodigious head of the Kaiba Corporation had finally cracked under the obscene amount of pressure he placed on himself, and lost his mind. The only reason half of them had accepted the proposal at all was the equally obscene amount of money he'd offered for it.

Doctor Morris Jay had walked into the board room of the international headquarters of the Kaiba Electronic Gaming Corporation almost six months ago, with no idea of what was happening. The call had been discreet, secretive, and details hadn't been given. But Jay had been living in Domino City long enough to know that when Seto Kaiba asked to see you, the only real option was to accept the invitation.

As Jay understood it, the story went like this: Kaiba Gozaburo—founder of the corporation born in Japan as 海馬株式会社 (_Kaiba Kabushiki-gaisha_)—had had a son, named Noa. And Gozaburo, like any number of wealthy men, had held high hopes for the boy. Noa had not disappointed. A born genius, the young Kaiba heir had quickly risen up to his rather demanding father's expectations; indeed, he had thrived on them. It was a given, people said, that Kaiba Noa would take his father's place, and that the corporation that bore their name would rise far past its already astronomical heights in his hands.

Dylan O'Hara had interrupted the story at this point to ask why Seto, born a year before Noa, had not been the designated heir from the start. Would not a man like Gozaburo have placed his bets on his firstborn?

"Noa was Gozaburo's biological son," Roland Ackerman, Seto's personal assistant, told them. "Master Kaiba was adopted." O'Hara had looked around, chagrined, at the rest of the team, who knew this already. "That is the crux of why you are here today. When Noa was just a month or so into his tenth year, he was involved in…well, what was _technically _a fatal vehicle accident."

"Technically?" Jay repeated, frowning.

"Indeed. Gozaburo was nothing if not…dedicated. We do not know why he _began _work on the project, but by the time young Noa died, Gozaburo had completed something he called P/M printing. As Master Kaiba has explained it to me, this program was used not unlike what one might use to back up one's work on any personal computer system. Except this process was created specifically for the human mind."

"P/M" stood for personality/memory, the primary functions of the human brain that Gozaburo's program somehow, miraculously, was able to replicate in raw data. Through this process (and various others that made far less sense), he had managed to save his son's brain—his son's _essence—_in a personal supercomputer. Aside from this print, Gozaburo had loaded one other program into the system: a virtual copy of the earth of 1997, with every minute detail injected into it, from the precise position of every continent to the color of the British Prime Minister's facial hair. Thus, Noa woke from his death to his own personal planet; a playground of such immense proportions that it had driven the boy genius insane.

On hearing this explanation, which doubtlessly had come from Seto and not from Roland Ackerman, Jay couldn't help but draw a comparison to the science fiction mythology of the Wachowski brothers, and he wondered if Gozaburo hadn't been the Architect to his child's Neo. Noa had been given complete, godly control over his personal Matrix. Over the course of two or three years, Roland told them, he had learned enough to toy with his virtual reality to the point that it was unrecognizable. Anything Noa did not like, he could change. Why? Because he instinctively knew how. Noa's control over the supercomputer his father had built bordered on the technopathic.

That supercomputer was the hallmark of the Kaiba family's genius: father and son.

King and heir.

"And what does Kaiba-shachou plan to do, exactly?" Kim Ueda asked.

"Some time ago," Roland answered, "Master Kaiba and Young Master Mokuba were…uploaded, I suppose you could say, into this computer system, through the relatively new pod technology which I'm sure you all know about."

The gateway to virtual reality. Seto Kaiba's pods were the way in. They were the key. Jay had seen one of the devices Kaiba-Corp had developed, and it was nothing short of amazing. What seemed like a simple chair outfitted with headphones and a visor, actually seemed to separate the mind from the body. A hypnosis machine. And Jay couldn't help but say, "They were jacked in."

Roland Ackerman chuckled. "Yes, I suppose you could put it that way. In any case, in making his escape, Master Kaiba destroyed both programs on his stepfather's system. Relatively recently, however, he discovered that Noa had _known _there was a chance for his own destruction, and created a back-up of a back-up, just in case."

"So…Noa Kaiba's mind still exists?"

"Yes."

"And what does this have to do with us?" Jay asked.

"You all," Roland said, sweeping a hand over the gathered individuals, "have been selected by Master Kaiba to conduct a project. Completely in-house. That is to say you are sworn to secrecy. Part of the reason he has paid you all so handsomely for this task is to ensure that secrecy."

Roland frowned somberly.

"…You are going to help Master Kaiba bring his stepbrother back to life."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

**

* * *

**

Impossible. It was impossible.

And yet…here it was. Morris Jay was looking at him: living proof that the current head of the Kaiba family was ten times the genius his predecessor had ever been. The Kaiba legacy had been upheld, and the sweetest irony of it all was that the one thing above all else that he _didn't _want was for the public to know it.

Seto Kaiba had resurrected the dead.

Noa stared at his stepbrother blankly, as if he were simply looking for something specific, something tangible, on which to focus his vision (if not his mind). But as Jay watched, comprehension dawned in those light blue eyes, and in a manner of a few seconds, true understanding set in his face.

"Seto," he said.

There was no slur, no hint of tiredness or dizziness or any sort of debilitating sign, as if he'd only gone to the hospital to get a flu shot; as if he'd only been out for a few hours rather than several years. The voice was deep; not quite as deep as the man who could have passed for his twin, but still deep enough to surprise its owner. Noa instinctively touched his thin, deft fingers to his neck.

_Could pass for twins_, Jay thought again. And that was one of the oddest things about Noa Kaiba. Seto had developed, with the assistance of Kim Ueda, an in-house aging program, and they had scanned the most recent photograph of their subject into it (taken on the young Kaiba's ninth birthday). Seto had said that if he was going to build a body for his stepbrother, then they may as well ensure that it would look right; that meant a body of the proper age, and that any and, indeed, _every _detail would be essential for success. The man Jay saw now was the product of that part of the project; Noa Kaiba's nineteen-year-old body was nearly identical to Seto's twenty-year-old one, and yet Seto had stressed that there was not a single drop of blood shared between them.

It was because of that realization that Jay became conscious of the fact that he was seeing _far_ more of that nineteen-year-old body than he should have been, indeed than he would ever want to. Noa likely hadn't yet noticed, or simply didn't care right now, that he was nude. Seto glided over to the chair on the opposite end of the bed where Noa sat and tossed him a set of clothes. Noa caught them and began to dress himself thoughtlessly, showing no sense of modesty or embarrassment or…_anything_ except slack-jawed amazement.

"Noa," Seto finally said, in response to his stepbrother. He went back to his previous spot, and stood there rigidly, arms crossed over his chest and looking only vaguely interested in where he was and what he was doing. A man whose death warrant had been signed almost a decade ago was standing up, getting dressed, talking and breathing and _thinking, _and Seto Kaiba may as well have been in line at the bank.

Noa either didn't notice this, or had decided not to comment on it.

Jay had a feeling that it was the latter. He knew, if Roland Ackerman's account of events was true, that Seto had no particular loyalty to his adoptive sibling. Their first meeting had been…less than agreeable, and one of the most frequently asked questions amongst the team as they had been working was why Seto had done it in the first place. Seto himself would never answer.

Looking at him now, Jay wondered if it wasn't just to see if it could be done. Because now the deed was done, the project finished, a resounding success. The challenge was over. The thrill of it was gone. And so Seto had lost interest. That seemed the most logical answer to both Jay and Ueda, who had spent the most time alongside the young CEO. "There's a…spark of life in him when he's working on machinery," Kim had told the rest of them once. "Like…like he's finally awake after sleepwalking for God knows how long. I think he lives for the challenge. He lives for the chance to figure out the solutions to things. Mathematics, technology, _psychology…_the man's never quite as vibrant as when he's working something out."

That seemed true.

Jay wondered if Noa wasn't much the same way; wondered if the reason Noa looked so amazed was because he finally had something he _didn't_ understand, finally had a problem to puzzle out again: _how this could be possible._

It seemed that Seto speaking his stepbrother's name was what finally made it real for the biological son of Kaiba Gozaburo; what finally made it _true. _He took an unconscious step toward Seto, one hand outstretched as if reaching for him, and Jay was positive that he saw Seto's body stiffen in preparation to ward off attack.

"I…" Noa tried to speak. "I'm…this is…am I…?"

"Well," Jay said with a grin, "We can tell O'Hara he doesn't have to worry. His vocal chords are working just fine. Legs and arms, too. Everything…looks perfect."

"More importantly," Seto murmured, and Jay figured that he wasn't speaking to him _or _the sandy-haired man in front of him, "he remembers the proper motions to produce speech. Not _coherent _speech, apparently, but nonetheless…"

It was almost like Seto had expected more of his latest project. Like he blamed Noa himself for being unable to process the sudden tidal wave of sensory information bombarding his newly activated mind. The beginnings of a very familiar sneer were touching his thin lips, and not for the first time, Morris Jay thought that it was no surprise that Seto Kaiba was single.

Noa blinked several times, looking around his room, running a hand over the crumpled sheet at the foot of his bed. He looked back at Seto, and Jay could almost _see _his brain working. And he said, after a moment's thought,

"I'm alive. Aren't I?"

Seto raised an eyebrow, and the sneer was gone, replaced by his usual smirk. It was perhaps his less-than-praising way of saying, _Well done. You figured it out. _He gave the barest hint of a nod. Noa's hand dropped back to his side, as if he no longer had the strength to lift it.

The look of dawning euphoria, the expression of almost religious rapture, on Noa's face as the answer sank in nearly made Jay cry. This, he thought, made everything worth it. He almost gave Seto back the money he'd been paid. This was enough. Seeing such sublime happiness was all the compensation he would ever need for the six months he'd spent working for the Kaiba family.

Seto didn't seem affected in the slightest.

He looked bored.

"You're alive," Jay felt compelled to repeat, and Noa looked at him as if first realizing another person was there. "…Again." Noa's grin somehow widened further, and a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. He lowered his head, one hand covering the face that looked so much like Seto's, and Jay thought he might start crying.

Instead, though, he looked up again. Sharply, as if he'd just remembered something. Confusion clouded his eyes again, and a frown, half-disbelief and half-suspicion, crossed his face. Jay thought that the first logical question for Noa to ask would be how. Jay had had a hand in it, and even _he _wasn't sure of the answer to that.

But it wasn't.

"…_Why?" _he asked instead.

Seto smirked again. Jay thought that he wouldn't answer; that he would just turn away and exit the room, that his answer would be silence, just like it was whenever anyone else asked him that. But the smirk also seemed to say that Noa should know the answer to that question already. And just as Seto _did _begin to turn toward the door (he never enjoyed explaining his motives to anybody; the word "why" seemed to offend him), it seemed that Noa _did_ know.

But Seto answered anyway, with what was perhaps the most confusing thing Morris Jay had ever heard from him. He turned his head slightly to glance over his shoulder as he reached out to open the door and exit into the hallway, and he said,

"Mokuba wanted you."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**This section of the story revisits a theme first presented in "Back from the Dead." When I first started figuring that one out, one thing I knew I wanted to do was portray Noa Kaiba's rebirth into the world in a realistic fashion. I wanted to work it into the plot, instead of just tossing him in and calling it done. I may or may not have done a decent job of that on the physical side of things; being my own worst critic, I'm of the opinion that I botched it entirely. But either way, one thing I forgot to consider was how his **_**psychological _rebirth would pan out. I forgot the real hang-ups in what bringing him back into the Kaiba family would be._**

**_With the original story, I skipped ahead, and wrote Noa as though he had been a part of the gang for months, if not years, already. In this version, I'm starting from the beginning, to truly explain how he went from the character in the anime to the character in Images, which is still my eventual goal. I have a better understanding of that now, and intend to put it on display here. This is the first stepping stone of that._**

**_The first thing that's changed fundamentally from when I first wrote Noa in BftD is that this time, he's an adult. Instead of bringing him back as a boy Mokuba's age (as he is shown in the anime), I decided that Seto would bring him back as the man he would have become if he'd physically aged during his time in virtual reality. That's part of the reason that he's so distant. Seto has a soft spot for children, for the innocent and the downtrodden, if you will; but when it comes to fellow adults, he has little if any sympathy. I surmised that this would be especially true of someone who tried to kill him (and more importantly, someone who tried to kill Mokuba)._**

**_This relationship will be a rocky one. _**


	3. He is My Awakening

**_A family relationship is confusing. Even the most functional, well-adjusted clan on the face of the planet has its issues, and the Kaiba family is most certainly not well-adjusted. It is, for the most part, functional. That is, at least, until you throw a third spoke onto the wheel. Noa breaks things downs and builds them back up until they're entirely unrecognizable. What once was a pair of siblings whose lives revolve around comfortable routine is now a triumvirate._**

**_In other words...shit's about to get real._**

* * *

**Verse One.  
**

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

Noa looked over at Jay with a bright smile. "I'm fine," he said, jumping up from his bed and walking around it. He held out a hand and turned it this way and that, looking at it as though it were some foreign artifact. "Do you know…" he said, "…there's just something more…_whole _about…this?" He gestured around himself. "It's like…like how you can tell you're dreaming? When you're asleep, and things are happening, and you know they're not real because…because you can _feel _it?"

Jay wasn't entirely sure he understood what the light-haired Kaiba was talking about, but he nodded, anyway. "Enjoying yourself, then?" he asked, and Noa nodded vigorously, looking like nothing so much as a little boy opening Christmas presents. "Well, that's fine. That's just fine. Ah…if you don't mind, Kaiba-shachou sent me in here to check on you. Make sure things are…running properly, you know."

"Kaiba-shachou…" Noa repeated, looking curious. "My father preferred to be called 'Kaiba-sama,' you know. He used to tell me that it reminded people of their place in his business, and how it was through him that they had work. That it was _he _who had given them a livelihood, and there was a certain respect to be given according to that."

Jay raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose you could say that _that_, perhaps, is why your stepbrother prefers not to hear it." Noa's face twitched, and a sudden flare of anger met his bright blue eyes, several shades lighter than Seto's but no less fierce; it vanished within seconds. "As I hear it told," Jay continued quickly, "they did…didn't get along all that—all that well. And so…well…ahem. Anyway. Yes. Kaiba-shachou sent me. And, uh…well, let's get to it, then."

Noa went through the motions of a check-up without so much as a word. If Jay were to hazard a guess, he would have said it was because he was too mesmerized by the movements of his new body, still too caught up in the fact that he could _feel _his limbs moving, to speak. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking, and he just didn't want to admit that he'd offended the man. Jay found that he rather liked Noa. It was clear that he had his stepbrother's intellect—or nearly, anyway—and yet most certainly did _not _have Seto's cold, overbearing, mechanical demeanor.

Which was rather ironic, considering that it was _Noa, _and not Seto, who had _been _a machine for so many years; and depending on one's definition still was _now._

As they were finishing up, and Noa was buttoning his shirt, the now-middle Kaiba brother said, "Do you think…it's as simple as Seto says?" Jay frowned, confused. "Do you think that he did it just because…well, I mean, I've spoken to the rest of the team, you know. I wanted to thank them all. And…what I've heard, about how you all _did _this…it must have been brutal. Six months? I guess that's record time, considering _what _the project was, and all, but…still. And there must have been a _lot _of money poured into it. The—the prosthetic limbs, the synthetic musculature, the…well, _all _of it."

Jay mulled this over. "Kaiba-shachou headed the project. Most of the processes and implements that went into it were directly from him. I wondered, as we were working on it all, how long he spent on his own, working it out, before he called us in."

"How…long has it been?" Noa asked. "Since…"

"Since you first met?" Jay asked. Noa nodded. "I believe Mister Ackerman said…thirteen or fourteen months."

"Ackerman?" Noa echoed. "Roland Ackerman?"

Jay nodded. "He is Kaiba-shachou's personal assistant."

"Huh. Seto doesn't seem to me like the sort of man to_ tolerate _a personal assistant."

Jay chuckled. "You know…I thought the same thing."

"Well…do you think that…he did all this, spent a year bringing me back…just because Mokuba asked him to do it?"

"One of the most often-asked questions amongst the team was why we were doing it. Why was he funding such an impossible experiment? Because you must admit, it sounds _way _too farfetched in concept to work."

Noa smirked. "I'm not sure _I _believe it yet."

Jay smiled. "He never answered any of us. No matter how many times we asked, he never said a word. I thought, when _you _asked him, that he'd ignore it. Just like he ignored us. But…if you want to know my opinion…that's about the _only _answer that makes any kind of sense."

Noa chuckled. "I guess you're right about that."

The door to the room opened with a jolt and bounced against the wall.

"Don't…do that," came Seto Kaiba's voice, exasperated but not entirely reprimanding. He sounded amused, Jay realized, and he turned around to look. He'd never heard such lightness in the man's voice. He quickly discovered why.

Jumping on the balls of his feet, looking far too excited to be human, the heir to the Kaiba fortune hopped into the room. Mokuba was dressed in faded blue-jeans and a red t-shirt—one reason hardly any Kaiba-Corp employee ever bothered to call him Kaiba-fukushachou, although strictly speaking they _should _have, was because he never looked the part—and a black backpack was slung over his shoulder; it looked as though he had come to the hospital straight from school.

"Noa!" The boy's grey-violet eyes were riveted on his stepbrother.

Noa stared back at him.

A soft, awestruck smile spread on his face, and he let out a breathless little chuckle.

"Mokuba."

* * *

**Verse Two.  
**

* * *

"You're awake!"

Noa's smile spread to its widest yet (he seemed to have done nothing but smile ever since his awakening), and he lifted his arms out to his sides. "That's what they tell me," he said. The affection shining in his eyes was one step below worshipping. Mokuba, for his part, looked almost as rapturous as Noa did, and Jay found himself entirely unsurprised by this.

Glancing back at Seto, the doctor saw that he had—as was his habit—drawn his face into something resembling neutrality, but there was still some anger seeping its way into it by way of his eyes. He was most certainly _not _pleased, and why should he be? Jay found himself feeling sorry for the man who had been his employer for the last six months. It was clear as day that Seto Kaiba didn't trust anyone, and here was a former enemy standing before him.

And Mokuba looked like he couldn't have possibly been happier.

_Why did you do it? _Jay found himself wondering again, now that he saw the three Kaiba brothers together. _Why would you make yourself an outsider in your own family? Why would you cast yourself out like this?_

Then he thought of Seto's answer, _Mokuba wanted you, _and sighed.

The man really was a wreck.

"That's…what they tell me," Noa repeated. His eyes were bright, attentive, and never stayed in one place for long. It seemed like he was committing every nuance of his stepbrother's appearance—from the shape of his nose to the particular folds of his shirt to the brand of shoes he wore—to memory. Like he thought the boy might vanish and wanted to keep him locked in his mind forever. He was still thinking like a machine, Jay realized.

"How does it feel?" Mokuba asked, after the silence had gone on just a _bit _too long.

Noa laughed. "I couldn't describe it if I tried. There aren't words for it."

"When can he come home, Niisama?" the boy asked, turning to look at his brother. A spasm of disgusted surprise crossed Seto's face just long enough for Jay and—he felt sure—Noa to catch it. Mokuba didn't.

"…A…few days," the eldest Kaiba finally answered, forcing the words out of his mouth.

"Are you okay, Niisama?"

Seto took a moment to answer. "…Yes. I'm fine."

Mokuba clearly knew that his elder brother was lying; that much was clear in the expression on his face. One black eyebrow was cocked, his mouth was set in a skeptical frown. But when it was clear that Seto had no intention of expanding upon this answer, the boy turned back to Noa, who was now watching Seto with keen interest. But not, Jay noticed, with anything even remotely resembling hostility.

_He has to know Kaiba-shachou doesn't want him to come home with them, _Jay thought. _If it's this obvious to me, then it has to be even _more _obvious to him._

Mokuba probably knew this as well, but was either in denial or was convinced that his brother would come around given enough time. Jay thought it more likely to be the latter. The young Kaiba heir was no fool, and knew Seto's moods and thoughts better than anyone; yes, he knew that Seto had lied; he knew the exact reason why Seto had hesitated. He knew, but he hoped. That, Jay suspected, was what marked the most crucial difference between Mokuba and just about everyone else.

Mokuba still held out hope that his brother was human.

And yet, despite knowing full well that he wasn't wanted, Noa didn't seem the faintest bit surprised, disappointed, crestfallen, or even guilty as he stared at his elder stepbrother. He looked intrigued. He looked as if he'd found something in this man that he hadn't expected to find, but wasn't displeased to find it.

He looked like he had found something familiar.

He said, "…Thank you."

Seto blinked, honestly surprised. "What?"

"I thank you," Noa repeated in earnest, even bowing his head a little. "For…everything. There are no adequate words for what you've done for me, and unquestionably there is no way for me to possibly repay you. I know, I know," he held up his hands, lips curving into an amused smirk, "you didn't do it for me. Still, you did it. You and your team. And so I thank you."

Mokuba was beaming now, delighted that, for Noa at least, the hatchet had been buried.

One look at Seto's face, however, wiped anything resembling pleasure from the black-haired boy's entire being. Seto didn't look impressed, or grateful, at his stepbrother's thanks. He still looked surprised, but it wasn't good surprise. It was the kind of surprise you would expect someone to have when offered a gift, only to find that it had been dumped in garbage first.

Seto looked insulted.

He scoffed. "Don't thank me," he snapped scathingly. He turned his back and stalked to the door. "Keep an eye on him, both of you. Make sure nothing's malfunctioning. I want this entire experiment done and over. I've spent too much time and money on it already."

He left.

Mokuba looked as if he'd just watched Santa Claus die of a heart attack. His mouth hung open, eyes wide with shocked betrayal. He whirled back to face Noa, the words of an apology already on his lips. Jay closed his eyes, thinking that he should have expected this. Clearly, there was no love for Noa Kaiba in his stepbrother's heart. There was no love for _anyone _in Seto Kaiba's heart, except perhaps Mokuba…and Jay was beginning to doubt even that.

His head snapped up in shock, causing pain to shoot from his neck down his spine, when Noa finally responded.

By throwing back his head and laughing.

* * *

**Verse Three.  
**

* * *

Mokuba stared, openmouthed. "I…wha…Noa? What's so…?"

Noa fell back onto his bed and rocked backward a bit, howling fit to burst. "Oh, the look on your face! _You _of all people should be used to that by now!" He gathered enough composure to look his young sibling in the eye again, and a grin split his face. "You didn't think he would welcome me with open arms, did you? I turned you both to _stone!"_

"But…that was…that wasn't…"

"Don't worry," Noa insisted, still grinning and still with a chuckle in his throat as he held his hands up in front of him. "You don't have to apologize or explain. Mokuba, I'm serious. It doesn't bother me. I expected it. If you want to know the truth, I _wanted _it. _Somebody_ needs to hold me accountable for the—ahem—things that I did. I would expect no less from my father's chosen."

Was there a trace of bitterness in Noa's voice now? Jay honestly wasn't sure. Where Seto's anger was a bright, blinding signal flare, what might have been Noa's anger was the flickering, hypnotic twist and swirl of a torch. Was it there, was it not there? It was impossible to tell. But Jay thought he'd seen it, and it made sense; Seto had taken Noa's place. Even though Gozaburo had kept his son alive, for lack of a better term, the father Noa worshipped had still replaced him with another boy.

And now, wasn't there proof in Noa's own body that Gozaburo had made the correct choice? That Seto was Kaiba Gozaburo's "proper" successor? Surely, Jay thought, there would be jealousy there. Of course. Obviously.

And yet…not so obviously.

Noa's might-be-might-not-be anger was wiped off his face in an instant as he flashed another dazzling grin and hopped back onto his bed, pulling his new legs to him, crossing them over each other and tucking them beneath himself. "So!" he declared brightly, "Tell me, Mokuba. Come over here and tell me: what have I missed?"

Mokuba still couldn't quite rid himself of the dismay on his face, but he smiled in that oddly accommodating way that he had, and he stepped over closer to the bed and pulled up the chair. He began to speak, of things Jay didn't understand and people Jay didn't know, and all of a sudden he realized that he shouldn't be here. This was wrong. He was trespassing, and hadn't he done his job already, anyway? Didn't he have anything better to do than eavesdrop on a private conversation that clearly only made sense to the pair involved in it?

Noa was positively enraptured, not so much listening as _absorbing _his stepbrother's every word, and Mokuba—ever the performer—slipped into a flowing narrative with the ease of a born storyteller. There was something more to Mokuba's tale than the usual embellishments of prepubescent boyhood; that bright, fantastical point of view that made even the simplest activity a thrilling, rollicking adventure; even though he didn't know half of what the black-haired boy was talking about, Jay found himself listening much more carefully than he'd expected.

Small wonder Seto often sent his little brother to conventions as a Kaiba-Corp spokesperson.

He'd been born for it.

Every once in a while Noa would interject, but not often. He was simply reveling in the experience of hearing, of engaging, of _being, _and there was just no room for anything else. He wasn't actually listening to Mokuba's words so much as he was listening to Mokuba's _voice,_ too giddy to really pay attention, too full of energy and too full of excitement.

And who could blame him?

Jay began the long, arduous trek toward the door, remembering what he had decided only moments before. It wasn't right for him to be a part of this; it wasn't right for him to intrude on it. Much as he liked Mokuba Kaiba, and as much as he _thought _he liked Noa (certainly more than he did the man who looked so much like him), he had nothing to add to this experience.

He gripped the door handle, turned it, and left the room.

He thought maybe it was time to go home; he had spent much more time in a hotel room over the past six months than he ever had in his life, and while the room had been _very _nice (it was owned by Kaiba-Corp, and Kaiba-Corp only provided the best), it had also been…somehow sterile.

Like its owner, he thought.

Yes…exactly like its owner.

* * *

**Verse Four.  
**

* * *

As he talked, Mokuba Kaiba tried to understand how his stepbrother must be feeling.

He remembered the Noa he had met the previous year. Not the psychopathic sadist who had tried to kill him, but the lost, lonely little boy who'd sacrificed himself to save him. He remembered their solemn, quiet goodbye, when Noa had thanked him for treating him like family. The man sitting in front of him now was an entirely different person, didn't even have the same hair color, but somehow he could still see that old Noa—that ten-year-old child dressed in white—in _this _Noa's nineteen-year-old face.

Noa was so happy that he was legitimately explosive. Light seemed to actually shine in his eyes, and the wide grin on his face was infectious. Mokuba couldn't help but smile himself, even though he was still upset with Seto for his less-than-hospitable welcome. Admittedly, like Noa had said, he'd never expected Seto to give him a bear hug and spin him around the room, but Mokuba hadn't expected him to actually call Noa a waste of time and money straight to his face, either.

"You still live in my old house?" Noa asked, bouncing energetically on his hospital bed. Mokuba nodded. "You've redecorated, I'm assuming? I hope? Otousama was kind of a minimalist. I think he bought _one _piece of art that I can remember, and he put it up somewhere in the basement." He laughed. "Actually, I think it was my mother who made him buy that. Must have been."

"Niisama hired somebody to decorate," Mokuba said. "He told me it just made things simpler when reporters and people like that show up for interviews or whatever. They won't ask questions about it if he just shows them what they expect."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "…Huh. Smart."

"He, um…he sleeps in your father's old room," Mokuba said. Noa frowned curiously at this, but said nothing. "I sleep in Niisama's old room. I think there's…well, actually, I don't know how many more bedrooms there are, but I bet you could just pick one."

"Why would he…sleep in Otousama's bedchamber?" Noa asked, more to himself than to his stepbrother. "If Doctor Jay is right, and I'm positive he is, Seto liked Otousama about as much as blonde women liked H. H. Holmes." Mokuba gave Noa a confused look, but he waved it off. "I would have thought he would detest anything even remotely connected to my father. To tell the truth, I'm surprised he didn't have the entire house demolished."

Mokuba shrugged. "Me too. But he didn't. Who's H. H. Holmes?"

Noa smirked, looking so much like Seto that it made Mokuba blink. "Nobody. Never mind. So…how old are you, exactly, Mokuba?"

"Eleven."

"Does Seto hire private tutors for you? Or do you go to school?"

"Niisama says I need to learn how to socialize, it's important for anything I want to do when I'm older. He doesn't want me learning from home. I go to school." Noa looked surprised by this. "It makes sense, when you think about it," Mokuba added, suddenly defensive, thinking that Noa's surprise meant disapproval. "I mean…if all I ever did was listen to tutors at home…I think I'd go crazy."

Noa shrugged. "I suppose that does make sense. Otousama was of the opinion that I would learn social skills quickly enough _after _my academic studies were finished, but…Seto seems to have a good idea. I suppose that _is_ the ultimate purpose of the school system, isn't it?"

He leaned back, pulling his folded legs with him, looking like a lopsided statue for a moment before tossing himself forward again. He chuckled, amused. "This is just fun, you know? How can people be unhappy here? It's…_transcendent. _What year is it?" He asked this suddenly, with a widening of his eyes as if he'd just thought of the question.

"Two-thousand-seven," Mokuba answered, smiling.

Noa exhaled heavily, chuckling again. "Is that right…? Well, now, I've catching up to do, haven't I? You know what we should do, Mokuba? I think you and I should go find some restaurant to invade. I haven't eaten in…well…I'm famished. Do you think my new body actually ingests food? I wonder if my taste buds work the same way. I hope so. If not, we have some more work ahead of us. Well…not you. You've done more than enough. I think _I'll _try my hand at it, if they don't work."

Noa was beginning to ramble in his excitement, and Mokuba let him. He wondered if this was how Seto felt when _he _got fully onboard with a tangent, if he didn't even hear half the words after a moment and just let his mind drift. It was a nice feeling, and he hoped Seto _did _feel this way sometimes. He deserved to.

Mokuba remembered vaguely that he was supposed to be upset with his brother right now, but around Noa—still in the afterglow of his miraculous rebirth—he found it impossible to be upset with anything. His good mood was permeating the entire room, and as Noa began to rail off the various foods he wanted to try now that he could _really _taste them again, Mokuba found that he was hungry.

He wondered if Seto would mind.

"…this one place, it served Korean barbeque, I think. The short ribs were _amazing._ Good chicken, too. I wonder if it's still in business. Do you think? We should find out. Do we still have a driver? Listen to me—we. You. Seto. Whatever. Randall Stone, I think was ours. I liked him. I wonder if he's still around. Is he still around? Do you know him? No, I can see you don't. So anyway…"

Mokuba suddenly began to laugh. He couldn't help it.

Noa stopped talking and stared. The expression on his face only made it worse. He cocked his head, looking like nothing so much as a curious bird, and the black-haired boy doubled over. Noa didn't bother to ask what was funny, and later Mokuba would think that he probably knew.

Noa was quite intuitive, especially when it came to self-analysis.

It was like he'd been built for it.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

**_H.H. Holmes is an alias of Herman Webster Mudgett, one of the United States' first serial killers in the modern sense of the word, born in 1861 and hanged in 1896. His victims were primarily woman with blonde hair._**

_**People who hate Seto tend to bank on the idea that he's a dick, at least in my experience. Selfish, arrogant, mean-spirited. As a kid, I didn't really see those parts of his personality. More to the point, I didn't want to see them. He was the misunderstood protector; the noble demon, if you will. And I made excuses for him.**_

_**I no longer do that. There's no reason to do it. Yeah, the guy's a stone-cold bastard. I admit it. I embrace it. I find it fascinating. Would I want to meet this guy? Well...okay, fine, let's be honest, yes. I would. But would I want to be around him on a constant basis? Probably not. He's not "buddy" material.**_

_**But he's interesting. Maybe he's a shonen cliché, maybe his character archetype has been done to death and there's a version of him in every anime and every manga and any number of other series. Not my problem. I like this bastard. And apparently, so does Noa.**_

_**And hopefully, so do you.**_


	4. An Adverse Reaction

_**An announcement before we begin:**_

**_I have set up a blog, "In Cold Blood," which is now my homepage on my profile; the address is as follows: icedblood1986 (dot) blogspot (dot) com. Here I will be posting updates to any project I've written—or any other project, period—as they're posted. This includes updates to a pair of websites I've recently joined known as "Wikinut" and "Triond." These sites are pay-to-post, and I will earn a percentage of ad revenue generated by each page I post for them. _**

**_In order to earn some money with this passion of mine, I will be posting all new fanfiction projects through Triond (Wikinut does not allow fanfiction, but other nonfiction projects or original fiction will be posted there). I apologize for this inconvenience, but I hope you understand that I am trying to make more out of this than a hobby. I hope to help my family and myself with my writing. I'm transferring to a university to pursue a teaching degree, and I need all the help I can get. So keep an eye out on my new blog, if such is your inclination. I promise that things won't be too infuriating. It would help me out a lot if you guys could look at what I have posted already, and of course leave feedback if you wish. Any and every response to my work is greatly appreciated and encouraged._**

**_Thank you for understanding, and if you decide to take a look at "In Cold Blood," feel free to drop me a line. I always love to hear from you._**

**_With that said, let's see what Noa's up to, shall we?_**

**_

* * *

_**

**Verse One.**

**

* * *

**

Noa half-stumbled through the city like a tourist from another country.

In a way, that's precisely what he was. Mokuba walked alongside him, smiling as his stepbrother asked about various things that had been around since the black-haired boy was old enough to remember _anything_ about the city where he'd grown up. Was that park always there? That building looks new. What is it? They didn't used to have a street lamp there; wasn't there a statue of an old man with a pocket-watch over that way? I liked that old man.

"It's been a long time since you've walked around here, huh?" Mokuba asked. "I mean, even in your…world, I guess, you didn't go out much, did you?"

"Technically, it's been nine years since I've actually _walked _around this city," Noa said. "But since I've walked around a _version _of it? About six. I used to go out every day. Otousama programmed the ice cream vendor out by the park—I doubt she's still there—to always have my favorite flavors. I thought it was wonderful, eating ice cream for breakfast every morning. And nothing bad ever happened; my body never changed."

Mokuba listened to this with sharp interest. "Did you get hungry?"

Noa shook his head. "I used to think I did, for a while. But it was just in my head. I thought that I _should _be hungry, so I was. Pretty soon, I figured out that if I decided I _wasn't _hungry, then I wasn't. That world was completely controlled by my mind, so whatever I decided, it existed. I suppose you can understand that that would be a…bit of a power trip."

Mokuba nodded, almost awestruck. "Sure…"

"It didn't take long before I just stopped caring. I'd spend all of my time in my old bedroom, affecting the world from there if I decided I wanted to change something. I slept a lot…well, what could pass for sleep, anyway."

"Did Fa—did your father ever…you know, visit?"

Noa quirked an eyebrow at Mokuba, eyeing him critically (again, looking eerily like Seto), before he said: "For a while. Every so often, he'd communicate with me. Sometimes through a phone call, sometimes through a television; sometimes it would even be a letter." Noa laughed bitterly. "I used to wait on that correspondence…after a while I started to depend on it. And it was just about that time, when I thought I'd go crazy if he ever decided to stop, that he…decided to stop."

Mokuba flinched. "I'm sorry."

Noa grinned. "Don't be! That's all over now. The old man's dead, and good riddance, anyway. He was psychotic." He said this with a bit of a tremor in his voice, like a child saying something he knows his parents would disapprove. The grin on his face was that of the clandestine glee of knowing he'd gotten away with it, but there was a touch of fear in his eyes, as if he thought his father might walk around the corner and reprimand him.

When they rounded that corner, the only person they saw was an elderly woman walking a black Labrador. The dog barked excitedly, and Mokuba smiled. Noa kneeled down in front of the animal and scratched behind its ears like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. "Hey, you," he said. "What's your name?"

"Shadow," the woman replied with a smile. "He doesn't usually act like that around strangers. You boys must have a special touch." She laughed. Noa grinned up at her, and Mokuba's smile widened. Shadow looked over at the boy as if expecting _him_ to scratch now. Mokuba obliged.

"Shadow," Noa repeated. "Like the movie. Golden retriever. _Homeward Bound, _wasn't it?"

The woman grinned. "Yes, yes! My granddaughter named him. She loves that film, bless her. Watches it so much she's liable to drive her parents mad."

"I remember that movie…" Noa murmured. "It was good. Mokuba, did you ever see that one?"

Mokuba shook his head.

"Mokuba?" the woman asked, white eyebrows rising. "Not Mokuba _Kaiba?"_

"Yes, ma'am," Mokuba said, bowing his head slightly.

"Oh, my…my, my, if she _knew_…my granddaughter is in your fan club! What a fun surprise!"

Mokuba blushed. "…Uh…"

Noa laughed. "You have a _fan_ club? That is _fantastic!_ Oh, you have to show me!" He stood up and bowed to the old woman. "Noa Kaiba," he introduced. "I just moved back to the city. My little cousin, here, is showing me around. He never told me about any fan club." He ruffled Mokuba's hair.

"Oh, well, yes, indeed. And so _young_, too. Remarkable." The woman held out a hand to shake Mokuba's. "It's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Elizabeth. Tell me…would you mind if I…?"

"Got an autograph for your granddaughter?" Mokuba asked, sounding as if he'd rather jump into a pit of snakes. Elizabeth nodded, looking a bit unsure of herself now. "Sure." He shrugged exasperatedly, then flashed a winning smile—he was quite the charmer, Noa noticed with amusement, when he wanted to be—to show that he wasn't angry.

Mokuba pulled a pen out of one pocket of his jeans and took the memo book Elizabeth retrieved from her purse. She thanked him as he scribbled his signature onto the paper (and told her to have her granddaughter call Kaiba-Corp's testing department directly if she wanted to confirm the signature was genuine; he seemed to go through this a lot). Shadow barked, and they parted ways.

Noa was chuckling. Mokuba was blushing.

"It's still weird when people ask me for those. What's so special about my name?"

"Don't be modest," Noa said, ruffling the black-haired boy's hair again. "I was never asked for _my_ autograph. Although…neither was Otousama, now that I think about it. I'm thinking there's _something _special about you, Mokuba. Maybe that lady's granddaughter…_likes _you…?"

"Shut up!" Mokuba cried, but laughed in spite of himself.

"Oh, come on," Noa said, grinning, "it could be worse. You could be one of those celebrities everybody hates." He didn't say, _like Seto, _but he thought it. He had followed his elder stepbrother's career ever since it had taken off when he turned fifteen, sifting through Seto's personal computer network like a conscious virus, and he knew how people looked at him.

Seto Kaiba was the living, breathing testament of his adopted father. And to most people, that wasn't a good thing.

"I guess," Mokuba mumbled. "But it's still _weird! _I mean…fan clubs? I'm not a movie star or anything, why would anybody join my fan club?"

"You're famous, like it or not," Noa offered. "Famous, rich, and cute. The holy trinity of fan clubs. Don't look at me like that; people love kids…especially when they aren't _theirs. _You're like Kaiba-Corp's mascot."

"I thought people hated mascots."

"Well, _you_ don't dress in animal costumes and dance on street corners, do you?"

Mokuba snickered. "…No. Niisama's never asked me to do that."

Noa grinned. "See?"

"I still don't get it."

"Of course you don't. You're modest, too. Another point in your favor."

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow at the man who had suddenly taken it upon himself to be his personal psychologist. "You seem to know a lot about this stuff," he said. "You're like Niisama, aren't you? A genius. A prodigy."

"There's that modesty again," Noa murmured.

"Huh?"

Noa shook his head. "Never mind." He finally spied a restaurant that he recognized, and his eyes sparkled. He started toward it, and Mokuba followed, still looking curious. Fixated on the idea of finally eating _real _food again, Noa didn't actually answer the boy's question until he asked it again.

Noa glanced over his shoulder.

"You'd be surprised how much you learn about humanity when you're not part of it."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

**

* * *

**

"That's…quite an order, sir."

Mokuba smirked, took out his wallet and flashed his student ID card at the clerk. "I think we can cover it," he said, and took out $100. The clerk's face reddened, and he nodded hurriedly as he took the money.

"Understood, Mister Kaiba, sir. I'm sorry, I…didn't recognize…"

Noa smirked. "'What's so special about my _name?'" _he whined, grinning as Mokuba punched him playfully in the arm. "Yes," he said to the clerk, "it, ah…it's quite a bit, I admit. But I haven't been here in a _long _time, and I haven't eaten in…a while."

"I didn't mean to insinuate—I wasn't trying to…I should shut up now, shouldn't I?"

Noa laughed. "Don't worry about it. _Oyabun_ won't hear about this."

Mokuba chuckled. _"Oyabun?" _he repeated.

The clerk gestured to their right, into the dining area of the restaurant. "Take a seat," he invited. "Might want to pick one of the bigger tables. It will, um…take a while to prepare everything. So just make yourselves comfortable. Someone will be by to get your drinks."

Noa nodded.

After he and Mokuba had situated themselves, Noa leaned back and looked around. "They've renovated," he noted, "but all in all, everything looks the same. I used to come here with my mother every weekend. Otousama didn't care for it, of course. He was a bit of a…oh, why lie, he was a complete snob. This was no higher in the chain of quality than a fast food place, as far as he was concerned."

Mokuba nodded. "He _did _have…well, refined tastes? I'm not sure if Niisama would come here, either. He prefers his own cooking; I think he only tolerates the staff's cooking at home because he has to. He doesn't like to pay for someone to cook something he could cook better."

"That sounds like Seto, all right," Noa said. "I'm going to take a wild guess and say he reads Ayn Rand."

Mokuba raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know that? She's one of his favorites."

"Ever read anything she's written?"

"No. I thought about it, though. If Niisama likes her so much…he doesn't read fiction very much. Have you read her stuff?"

"Religiously," Noa said, smirking. "You'll understand how I knew that when you read her. It should…resonate pretty strongly. What about you, Mokuba? What do you read? Or _do _you? You're not one of those 'reading is for losers' kids, are you? I could always pick those ones out of a crowd. They were the ones with the sloped foreheads."

Mokuba laughed. "I like fantasy stuff. Mythology. Isis Ishtar gave me a book on Egypt a while ago that's really nice. It has all the different gods and goddesses and legends and stuff like that. I guess I study a lot…Niisama's kind of rubbed off on me."

"No way," Noa said. "I don't believe it. Why do I recognize that name? Ishtar."

"She's a famous Egyptologist," Mokuba said. "She teaches out at the community college. She was one of the duelists in Niisama's Battle City tournament, too. She let Niisama use one of the Egyptian God cards."

"I thought those things were just a stupid urban legend," Noa said.

"No, they're real. There's three of them."

"Obelisk, Osiris, Ra," Noa murmured. "So have you taken any of her classes?"

"She said I should," Mokuba said, "but I'm still in middle school. I don't know if I want to go to college yet. She does have a mythology class. It doesn't deal with any of the archeology stuff. Maybe I'll take that one. It's on weekends."

"Middle school," Noa said. "Seventh?"

"Yeah."

"You skipped a grade."

Mokuba grinned proudly. "Yep."

Noa leaned back and smirked. "And thus is the Kaiba legacy upheld. I might have known. Ah, ah—don't look like that. I know what you're going to say. Niisama did better. Don't sell yourself short. I'm sure he's proud of you. He'd have to be, if he brought _me _back on your order."

"I didn't _order _him."

"Maybe not, but he did it for you. That's special, Mokuba. You know that, don't you? If he'd go so far as to do a favor for _me, _I think he's liable to do anything for you. He hates me."

"He doesn't _hate _you. He just doesn't trust you yet."

"He doesn't _trust_ you. Me? He hates. _You _trust me on this, Mokuba, I know what hatred looks like. It's okay. I don't deserve forgiveness from him. Truth be told, I don't deserve forgiveness from _you. _But I guess you're just special."

"It wasn't your fault!" Mokuba protested.

Noa's smirk lost its humor. "Proof you haven't read your Niisama's favorite authoress. It _is _my fault, Mokuba, for having blind faith in a psychopathic tyrant. I refused to see the signs until it was almost too late. It nearly cost Seto his life, and most importantly…it nearly cost you yours. That, more than anything, is why he hates me. Don't worry about it, Mokuba. It's okay. Really. You've done more than enough for me. I don't want you worrying about me, too."

"But you're my brother!"

The smirk softened into a smile.

"...Thank you," he murmured.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

**

* * *

**

"Tip them. Tip them outrageously. Tip them so much that God Himself will walk through those doors right now to tell you, 'Hey, that's an outrageous tip you just gave.'"

Mokuba couldn't help but laugh as he left a sizable (though not God-summoning) tip on the table. Noa, leaving four empty plates on his side, stood up, stretched luxuriously, and bowed deeply to their waiter as he passed by. "You are a fantastic human being," he said.

"That's quite the compliment, coming from a Kaiba," the waiter, Henry, replied.

"We are generous in our praises when and wherefore we are pleased," Noa said with a flourish. Henry laughed. "In fact, we are so pleased that we will frequent this establishment in the future…frequently."

"He's not talking about me right now," Mokuba said. "Just himself."

"See?" Noa said, grinning. "He understands us."

Henry laughed again, shaking his head. "I'll watch out for…all of you."

"Very good, sir."

Noa held open the door for a young couple with their children, inclining his head in greeting as they entered. Mokuba followed his stepbrother with a smile on his face, thinking that Seto should hire Noa as a spokesman for the company; he had an innate ability to entertain. He certainly _had_ learned a lot about humanity in his time as a machine, Mokuba thought.

Still positively effervescent and bursting with energy, Noa waved and greeted any and every passerby that happened to catch his attention. Mokuba was used to having others' eyes on him, and it was a good thing; Noa attracted attention like a lantern attracted moths. He was almost _too _energetic, the bounce in his step bordering on muscle spasms. As they headed back toward the hospital on the next block, Mokuba began to wonder if it had been a good idea to let Noa eat as much as he had. His body seemed to have had an adverse reaction to it.

By the time they were walking across the hospital's parking lot, Noa had noticed his body wasn't reacting properly, that his giddiness and bursting energy wasn't normal. "Maybe…" he murmured thoughtfully, "…the trigger in my mind that tells me when I'm full...isn't functioning properly." Mokuba shrugged. He had no idea. "It could be that this body is better able to extract energy and nutrients from food than a biological one," he continued in that same slow, contemplative voice that was the very antithesis to his antics just twenty minutes before, "and the excess from today is…having a…"

Just as they entered the building, his speech slurred, slowed, and Noa collapsed onto the floor.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

**

* * *

**

"You're an _idiot."_

Noa looked extremely subdued as he sat on the edge of his hospital bed and looked sheepishly at the floor as his elder stepbrother swept a hand over his angular face and ran it through his thick brown hair. "I might have realized sooner," Noa said softly, even though Seto hadn't specifically asked for a response, "except that it's been so long since I've actually eaten an honest meal that I…forgot myself, and ignored the potential consequences."

"You don't even know what the consequences _might have been, _much less what they _were," _Seto hissed. "You cannot tell me that you have studied enough of your situation in such a short time as you've had to understand just what happened to you because of your stupidity."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "With all respect due you, I know more about this body than you might think. I have significant experience with technology, and that combined with the manner by which I currently think, has afforded me with some amount of knowledge in regards to how this body functions."

Seto sneered. "Making up for previous conduct, now? Showcasing your intellect? If you know how your body functions, then it was all the more reprehensible for you to overtax it so quickly."

"Perhaps you are not aware, or do not care, what it feels like to be free from the prison into

which my father saw fit to place me," Noa replied, a bit irritated now, "but I'm hardly interested in the concept of a 'moderate diet' at the moment. I haven't eaten in nine years."

"Do what you want," Seto snapped. "It's no problem of mine if you run that body into the ground. The money is already spent, and I gained something from it that is…disconnected from your existence. I simply believed that you placed more importance on the life to which you've returned. If you think I will simply reconstruct you, rethink your options, because I'm not interested in going through this again."

"I passed out in a hospital," Noa replied. "I hardly see how this indicates that I'm going to die."

"Perhaps you are not aware, or do not care, that you are not precisely _bound_ by the rules of biology anymore," Seto replied, "but let me spell it out for you: the slightest complication could prove catastrophic in your position. You are something of a unique case, in case you didn't _catch_ that."

"Fine," Noa said, holding up his hands, "consider me reprimanded. I'll take care to observe that in the future. Could you have Jay write me up a list of food and drink that I am permitted to ingest? For future reference, you see."

Seto's eyes narrowed.

"...For _future reference," _he hissed, "keep in mind that it is well within my capacity to remove you from my list of obligations. The next time you make an abject _idiot_ of yourself and pose a potential threat to my brother, I will very seriously consider it." He held up a hand just as Noa was about to speak, and Noa suddenly felt obligated to obey. "Before you tell me that you will _never_ become a threat to Mokuba's safety, because I'm sure that is what you think at this moment, I would remind you that the muscle capacity of your body is averaged at three-hundred-percent of that of an average nineteen-year-old male. Something as simple as a muscle spasm could very well _kill_ him!"

Noa wasn't sure if that was altogether true, but he suddenly understood why Seto was angry.

He was nervous.

_And why shouldn't he be? _Noa thought. _He has no reason to trust me. Did I not tell Mokuba that I fully expected, and _wanted, _him to hate me? What if he's right? What if next time, instead of passing out, I go berserk? What if I…? If I…?_

Noa Kaiba bowed his head before his stepbrother. "Understood," he said.

Seto said nothing more as he turned on his heel and left the room.

Noa was alone, with no company but his thoughts, as he realized what his desire to indulge in such a simple human pleasure as lunch at a restaurant could easily have cost him. And he began to wonder, despite himself, what that meant.

If he had escaped one prison only to become trapped in another.

* * *

**END.**

**

* * *

**

**_The idea that Noa is a cyborg is one I've been playing with for quite a while. I didn't broach the subject when I wrote "Shifting Images," because it hadn't really crossed my mind yet. But if you think about it, how else is Seto going to bring Noa back except with his trump card: technology? So, he's a cyborg. One with quite a bit to think about, I think. This will be my first honest attempt (as far as I'm concerned) to explore Noa's relationship with his brothers, and as I believe I have mentioned before, it's going to be quite a ride. After all, mentally and emotionally he's still a kid. A smart kid, maybe smarter than most other people in the world, but still a kid. And he's going to act that way._**

**_At least for a while._**


	5. Glory to the Newborn King

_**The question has been raised as to why Mokuba would have a fan club. Though I have given a response to the person who asked the question (welcome back!), I thought that—since the subject comes up again in this chapter—I would mention it here.**_

_** In this, I am taking a leaf out of the manga's book. In said manga, Seto and Mokuba are more than celebrities, more than corporate bigwigs. Originally, they were—and are—the best gamers in all of Domino City. As professional gaming is reaching a more distinct level of importance in the mainstream these days, I'm thinking that it's not too much of a stretch to think that Mokuba is, in his own right, just that: a professional gamer.**_

_** Starcraft competitions, Counterstrike tournaments, World of Warcraft arena battles; stuff like that would all be within the realm of possibility for the little Kaiba to pursue. And it would garner some amount of response online.**_

_** Add to that the fact that he **_**is **_**the richest kid in Domino, and that he's been through any number of adventures, and I think a fan club works out rather well. He's charismatic, charitable, cute, et cetera. He's made TV appearances, given speeches.**_

_** It's a little club, I'm sure, mostly inhabited and pursued by residents of the city, but I think that it's safe to say that if Seto is the rising star of Domino, then Mokuba is the golden boy.**_

* * *

**Verse One.  
**

* * *

After his discussion with Seto, Noa kept on his absolute best behavior.

He stayed in the hospital, eating only what he was given by the staff, and wouldn't even partake of the popcorn Mokuba brought with him that Saturday to Noa's room, where he intended to stay the night in some species of sleepover. "Are you sure?" the boy asked as he tore open the bag and sat down. "I know it's not high-class or anything. Niisama only eats the kind you cook on the stove, and only that like...once a year. But it's still good." He held up the bag again.

Noa held up a hand. "No, thanks. I don't really like popcorn." It was rather clear that he was lying. Mokuba was more observant than most children his age, and he knew something was going on, but so far he hadn't been able to get an answer out of anybody. Seto wouldn't talk, none of the team would talk because Seto wouldn't talk, and Noa was pretending that life was perfect and there was nothing at all to talk _about._

"So, uh…" Mokuba said, when it was clear that Noa had no intention of accepting the snack, "…I talked to Doctor Ishtar. She says there's a spot open in her weekend class. It's starting next week. Do you think I should go?"

Noa shrugged. "I don't know if what _I _think matters. Do you _want_ to go?"

The black-haired boy shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's Saturdays and Sundays, so I'd be going to school every day. I haven't talked to Niisama about it yet. He doesn't really like Doctor Ishtar very much. I'm not sure if he'd like it if I went."

"It's not like you're going to her for psychological counseling," Noa said, chuckling. "It's a class. It's academia. I think Seto would be pleased…as much as he _can _be pleased, anyway. Besides, you're doing well, aren't you?"

Mokuba shrugged self-consciously. "I guess."

Noa grinned. "Not that modesty again. You're doing fine and I think you know it. Let me guess: you're not doing _as _well as Seto did when _he_ was in school, so you don't think you're doing well _enough. _That's good, I guess. You have high standards. But seriously, what's with that look? Do you even have any C's?" Mokuba shook his head, looking scandalized. "So just A's and B's." Nod. "And I'll bet there aren't even that many B's on that report card of yours, are there?"

Mokuba flinched. "…Two. I have trouble with math and science."

"How many classes are you taking?"

"Seven."

"So you have five A's, then. Normal humans call that doing well. Now, I may not be a normal human…anymore. My _father_ would have been angry, but _his_ standards were a fair share past abjectly ridiculous. You shouldn't hold yourself to them." He suddenly stopped, frowning as if he'd just thought of something. He said, rather sharply, "Does Seto reprimand you?"

Mokuba shook his head. "No. He says I'm doing fine. He says I'm doing better than he has any right to expect, and he's proud of me." A smile came to the boy's lips. "I just wish I could bring him home a report card with all A's on it. Like he used to."

Noa snickered. "Otousama probably would have found fault with _that, _too. 'Why aren't these A+'s? Have you been slacking?' Hey, if you want to push for perfect grades, I won't just accept it, I'll encourage it. And if you need help with math and science, I'll help." He tapped his temple. "I'm pretty qualified in _those _particular subjects, I'm sure you can guess."

Mokuba grinned. "Really? Thanks!"

"But," the light-haired Kaiba continued, "and you may have heard this before, but don't push yourself too hard. You don't want to turn into Seto…or maybe you do. Well, don't. You'll turn out miserable." Mokuba frowned, not quite seeing (or appreciating) the joke, and Noa cleared his throat. "…Until I find something to do with myself…or until I'm allowed, anyway, I'm probably going to have plenty of time on my hands. So come to me if you want some help. I owe you at _least_ that much. But don't go overboard. Don't let yourself turn into us."

Mokuba looked thoughtful, even skeptical, but he nodded. "Okay."

Noa shook his head, chuckling again. "Only a Kaiba," he said, almost to himself.

* * *

**Verse Two.  
**

* * *

"…And Mister Willis said that I could do my report on Niisama! So now I need to figure out what I'm going to do. You know, like, what stuff to focus on. What do you think?"

Noa walked along the hallway as Mokuba skipped ahead of him, bursting with energy as always. The sandy-haired man chuckled. "Well, since it's for a science course, I _would _say you should write about me. But I guess he wants to keep me a secret just now."

"Yeah," Mokuba said. "Oh! I told Niisama about what you told that lady, about how you're our cousin? He said that's good, and that we should keep up with that story. If anybody asks about you, we'll say you were named after…well, you. 'Kay?"

Noa shrugged. "I don't think many people even remember me. _Me _me. But anyway, if you're going to write a report about your brother for a science class, you should focus on what makes him a scientist. I don't think Mister Willis is going to accept a report about his career in tournament dueling."

Mokuba smiled. "I guess not. But maybe I could write about how he came up with the Duel Disk, or Solid Vision or something. I have some biographies and science journals and stuff about him at home. I guess I should look at those again. Maybe there's something in there. Or maybe I could interview him. Hm. Niisama doesn't like interviews, though."

"You're being thorough. He'll suck it up."

They passed Kim Ueda—a petite woman with a sharp face and a (usually) sharper tongue—who stopped and smiled. "Well, well," she said, "out for a stroll again, I see. How are you feeling, Noa-sama?"

"Noa," the middle Kaiba brother said. "Just Noa. You're one of the reasons I'm standing here. I'd say you've earned the right. I'm okay. Things are coming along well, I hear. Still a bit of wiggle room, so to speak, on just how much I should eat in one sitting. Doctor Jay is trying to figure out just how much energy I convert from a given meal. See if we can find a happy medium, so I don't give myself another power surge."

Ueda chuckled. "Yes. We wouldn't want that. You had us frightened for a while, there."

Noa shrugged. "With luck, it won't happen again."

"…I'm sorry," Mokuba said, sounding like he couldn't quite help himself. "I should have known better. I didn't think something like that would happen, and…and…"

Ueda's face softened as she looked at the youngest Kaiba, and she actually grinned. "Kaiba-shachou told us you'd blame yourself for what happened. Don't you worry about it, now. Even we didn't predict a reaction like that. It's not your fault for wanting to treat your brother to a nice lunch. After all, it's been a long time, hasn't it?" She turned her gaze back to Noa.

"You have no idea," Noa said. "Even the creamed corn they serve here at the hospital, though I'm not entirely sure there's actually any _corn_ in it_, _is delicious compared to…well, before. I don't know when I'm going to get used to eating real food again, but if you want to know the truth, I hope I never do."

Ueda laughed. "I'll tell you, Noa, _I'm_ not sure that's corn, either. Well, you two have a fine afternoon. I have a few reports to look over and sign off for Kaiba-shachou before Tuesday, and if I'm not mistaken, you have another checkup with Jay later on in the evening."

"Six-thirty," Noa said. "And another this Tuesday at five."

"Ah. I might have known. I hear tell your mind is sharp."

Noa beamed. "Sharp as it's ever been."

Ueda waved as she continued down the hall. Noa and Mokuba waved back, and continued their own walk. Mokuba said, "Do you _really _like the creamed corn?"

"Kid, I like anything and everything. I'd eat shoe leather if somebody cooked it. You don't know how heavenly this is. Well…maybe you do. You _have _experienced the…oddity that was my home for a while. Now try to magnify that by about thirty-thousand."

Mokuba fidgeted uncomfortably. "…I'm sorry, Noa."

Noa blinked. "Oh, no, no! Don't feel bad. I didn't mean to make it sound like that. It's just that…" He trailed off suddenly, looking straight ahead, and Mokuba looked confusedly up at him.

"Noa?"

Mokuba followed his stepbrother's gaze to see Seto striding up the walkway. He was dressed today in dark blue dress jeans, a white button-down shirt and a charcoal sport coat. Looking up from the folder in his hands, the eldest Kaiba stopped walking and looked at his brothers with a raised eyebrow. "Going somewhere?" he asked dryly.

Noa straightened his body and bowed. "Just a walk, Seto-sama."

With his eyes downcast as they were, Noa didn't see the almost-disgusted expression on Seto's face in response to the gesture (and the title). Noa lifted his head and smiled brightly. "Mm," Seto responded, and glanced at Mokuba. "Someone at the front desk on the ground floor is asking for you. She is waiting with Roland."

Mokuba's eyebrows rose. "Really? Who is she?"

"She is apparently a student of Isis Ishtar's."

"Oh. I…wonder what she wants."

Seto shrugged, and continued walking without further comment.

Noa turned to watch him for a moment before following Mokuba to the elevator.

* * *

**Verse Three.  
**

* * *

The apparent student of Isis Ishtar was a young woman with messy blond hair and an expression on her face that was so familiar that it was almost funny.

She sat on a plastic chair, legs crossed, reading a pocket-sized notebook. Roland Ackerman was standing beside her, arms straight at his side. His right hand continually twitched toward the pistol beneath his suit jacket; Seto had no doubt told him to be on guard. It wasn't often that anybody asked for Mokuba specifically. In fact, it was so rare that Mokuba couldn't actually remember the last time it had happened outside of school, although he was sure that it must have at some point or another.

The young woman had thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched at the edge of her sharp nose, and her eyes scanned the notebook in her right hand so quickly that—if he hadn't grown used to seeing how fast _Seto_ could read—Mokuba might have thought she wasn't _actually _reading at all. Everything about this girl's bearing reminded Mokuba of his older brother, except maybe her hair. Unlike Seto, who kept his thick brown hair sculpted to a very specific style, this girl looked as though she'd simply combed it back with her hands and tied it into a tail to keep it out of her eyes. Style seemed a distant concern to her.

This wasn't to say she looked grubby, or unattractive. She was quite pretty, actually, in a natural, detached sort of way that said she never actually tried. She wore black jeans, leather sandals, and a pale green sweater with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows. She glanced up from her notes, saw that Mokuba had arrived, and stood up smoothly.

Roland nodded his head. "Young Master," he said. "Master Noa."

The young woman raised an eyebrow, suddenly keenly interested in Noa. She said, in a smooth but snappish sort of voice, "Noa…not _the _Noa? Kaiba Gozaburo's firstborn? Not even the great Kaiba Seto could be _that _good."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "No. Cousin. My great-aunt told our mothers once, mine and Noa-sama's, that is, that their imaginations were so pitiful they'd probably name their sons the same thing just to save time. Well…I suppose they thought it would be funny to prove Miko-baasama right, because that's precisely what they did."

The young woman regarded Noa for a moment, perhaps trying to decide if she believed this story or not, but eventually shrugged. "Is that right?" she asked, and turned her attention to Mokuba, showing that the question was rhetorical. "You would be Mokuba, then. The _new _golden boy of the Kaiba legacy. Am I right?"

Mokuba blushed slightly. "Some…people call me that."

"My niece is in your fan club," the woman said.

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Is _everyone _in that thing?"

"I've begun to ask myself the same thing," the woman said, and extended a hand. "She's watched some of the _Starcraft _videos you put up, read your tutorials and such things on…oh, what was it…? Anyway. Never mind. Teresa Lundwin. An honor to meet you."

Mokuba shook Teresa's hand. "Niisama says you wanted to see me about something."

"Yes," Teresa said. She glanced at the notebook still in her hand, then slipped it into a back pocket of her jeans. She cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up. "Doctor Ishtar tells me you're interested in taking her class on Egyptian mythology."

Mokuba blinked. "Well…yeah. I've been thinking about it."

"Are you interested in mythology, or Egypt, primarily?"

"I…well, I've always liked myths and stuff. Niisama used to read them to me. For bedtime stories." Teresa quirked an eyebrow at this, clearly surprised. "And…well, I kind of wanted to learn about Egypt, too, since…"

"Since you met Yugi Mutou."

Mokuba looked at her strangely. "How did you…?"

Teresa shrugged. "Doctor Ishtar covers some rather unorthodox theories. I've taken it upon myself to study their validity. One of them deals in reincarnation. Apparently, she is of the opinion that Mister Mutou lived in the Old Kingdom, as the nameless king who succeeded Akhmenkhuamun."

A small, unconscious smile curved Noa's lips. "Knowledgeable, aren't you, Miss Lundwin?"

"Atemhotep," Mokuba said. Both Teresa and Noa turned their attention back to him. "That's…the pharaoh. The nameless one. His name is Atemhotep."

Teresa blinked several times. "_Is _it, now…? Where did you come by _that_ information?" She didn't sound like she didn't believe him. She took the notebook out of her pocket, grabbed the pen she'd tucked behind one ear, and scribbled down the name on a fresh page toward the back. "The name of Akhmenkhuamun's successor is one of the field's most long-running cases."

Mokuba shrugged. "I've done some research of my own. Talk to Yugi. Or Doctor Ishtar. They would...know more."

Teresa put the notebook and pen back into place and frowned. "Interesting…I think I will. So, it seems like you already have an introduction to the subject. Not to discourage you from taking mythology, but it's a soft option. You might want to consider Egyptology 1A, instead."

"I don't know," Mokuba said. "It sounds hard. I like stories. I just kind of wanted to hear how Doctor Ishtar tells them."

"Hmmm…I see. Well, if all you're looking for right now is a way to pass the weekend, I guess you're better off going that route. Still, if you want to move on to the actual science, I recommend you do so. You might be…interested to hear some of Doctor Ishtar's conclusions. Specifically as they pertain to _you."_

"…Huh? Me?"

"Certain meetings," Teresa said, "are designated for 'speculative Egyptology,' as she calls it. She discusses unproven and…sketchy ideas regarding lineage, chronology, things of that nature. Last week she discussed the king who supposedly ruled over the Jews in Exodus."

"The Bible?" Mokuba asked. Teresa nodded.

"The common consensus is Ramesses II, yes?" Noa asked.

"That's a common theory, yes," Teresa said, almost dismissively. "Anyway, the week before, she spoke to us about the Egyptian theory of reincarnation, and that while the common timeline of three millennia is obviously off, the reincarnations of various kings have been…well, not _proven_, obviously, but…some of the more radical scholars have taken to calling our city in particular 'New Egypt,' because evidence can be linked to three prominent kings of the Fourth Dynasty. Yugi Mutou, as I mentioned, to…Atemhotep." She nodded toward Mokuba with a slight smile. "Kaiba Seto has been linked to Sethos I, or…Seti I, if you prefer. I don't. I like Greek. He was one of Atemhotep's advisors and his eventual successor. Kind of ironic, isn't it?"

Mokuba laughed. "Niisama's heard that one, I think. He says it's stupid."

Teresa chuckled. "I used to, as well. Now…I'm not so sure. But anyway, the chief reason I wanted to speak to _you_ is because of the _third_ link to the Old Kingdom that just happens to reside in this city." She adjusted her glasses, which had begun to slide down her nose again. "You."

Mokuba stared. "…Me."

Teresa nodded.

"Yes. You, Kaiba Mokuba, are believed by some to be the second coming of Menkaura."

* * *

**Verse Four.  
**

* * *

Mokuba laughed. "Me? A pharaoh? Are you _serious?"_

Teresa Lundwin shrugged. "It's an odd theory, I admit. And to truly understand how someone could believe it, you pretty much _have_ to listen to Doctor Ishtar." She cleared her throat and retrieved her notebook again. "Let's see…ah. Here we are. 'Before taking the throne, Menkaura was an apprentice to Sethos I.' Sethos, I believe it's been largely proven, was the son of Akhenaten I."

"The heretic?" Noa asked. "I thought you said this was in the Old Kingdom."

"No," Teresa said, shaking her head. "That was Amenhotep IV. We've only recently uncovered the name of Akhmenkhuamun's brother, so we didn't know until now that the name had been taken before. Amenhotep is now being called Akhenaten II. We don't know if the first believed in the Aten or not, but it's likely."

"Heretic?" Mokuba asked. "The Aten?"

"Akhenaten tried to force monotheism onto Egypt after he took the throne," Noa said. Teresa raised an eyebrow at him. "All other gods were replaced with the deified disc of the sun, the Aten,. Usually, he was an aspect of Ra, but when Amenhotep IV took over as king, he announced Aten as the one true god, the creator and giver of life. He changed his name to commemorate this shift."

Teresa nodded, becoming more and more excited as she continued to talk. "He was the father of King Tutankhaten, who changed his name to the more familiar Tutankhamun to reestablish the old Egyptian religion after Akhenaten passed. If I remember correctly, Akhenaten I was responsible, directly or indirectly, for an uprising of religion in his own right. Details are sketchy, though."

"Maybe I _should _take the other class…" Mokuba murmured. "This is interesting. So, what about this Menkaura person?"

"Menkaura was younger than Sethos," Teresa said. "By how much, we're not exactly sure, but the tentative timeline points to about a decade. Sethos joined the priesthood, and took in Menkaura as his apprentice. Sethos had no legitimate heir when he died. His reign as king was short. He appointed Menkaura as his successor."

Noa looked thoughtful. "And Doctor Ishtar believes that Seto and Mokuba are Sethos and Menkaura, reincarnated."

"I believe she does, yes. She's never flat-out stated that it's true, but she's been quite thorough in her research on the subject." Teresa looked at him. "Do _you _believe it?"

Noa shrugged. "I never did much research on Egypt, personally, past the rudimentary history. I know about the Amarna heresy, I know about the Roman takeover, I know about Herodotus. I never dug very deep. I can't really make a call on this. Still, Seto is eight years older than Mokuba, almost nine. Pretty close. There's that."

"It sounds kind of cool, though," Mokuba said, smiling. "I used to be a king."

"You may as well _be _a prince, already," Teresa said, "Crown Prince of the West Coast, Heir Apparent to His Holy Lordship Seto Kaiba, richest teenager in the hemisphere…or is he twenty now? He's twenty, isn't he? Damn." She chuckled. "Anyway, enough of my blathering. Doctor Ishtar wanted one of her students to visit you about this newfound interest in the subject. I volunteered." She glanced down at her chair. A backpack was slung over the back of it. She picked it up, took out a large hardbound book and handed it to Mokuba. "She also wanted to give you this. It's the textbook she prefers to use."

The book, _Secrets of the Black Land, _was written by someone Mokuba had never heard of, but the introduction, according to the bottom of the front cover, was written by Isis Ishtar herself. He smiled and looked back up at Teresa. "Thanks," he said. "That was nice of you."

"I suppose Doctor Ishtar wants you to attend. The book is expensive, but I don't think you need to worry about that. Still, there you have it. Take a look, see if you're interested. I'm going to be acting as her TA starting next semester, so you'll probably see me there. If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask me."

Teresa winked as she lifted her backpack over her shoulder.

"Doctor Ishtar thinks I'm a misanthrope, but I only hate stupid people."

Mokuba grinned.

"That sounds familiar."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Historical information referenced in this chapter came from two sources: **_

_**Ancient Egypt – Lorna Oakes and Lucia Gahlin  
**__**Magic and Religion in Ancient Egypt – Rosalie David**_

_**Also, in regards to the names of the kings:**_

_**I know that Yami's father's name is, in canon, Aknamkanon (or Akhenamkhanon). My choice of the name Akhmenkhuamun is based upon my admittedly rudimentary understanding of the Egyptian language, and is comprised of the words "Akh," "men," "khu," and "Amun." **_

**_The word "akh" refers to an abstract concept of death, the "aspect of a person that would join the gods in the underworld being immortal and unchangeable. " Perhaps a part of the soul?  
Since, "Menkaura" is said to mean, "Eternal like the souls of Ra," I assume that "men," is a reference to eternity.  
"Khu" I've taken from the name "Khnum-Khufu," the full name of Khufu, supposed builder of the Great Pyramid, which means, "The god Khnum protects me."  
Lastly, "Amun" is one spelling of a prominent creator god, whose cult was centered in Thebes._**

**_Taken extremely liberally, one could potentially say that this name means, "Soul eternally protected by Amun," although I'm almost positive that that is incorrect, so please take this with a hefty grain of salt._**

**_I've used the name "Akhenaten" for Yami's uncle instead of "Akhenaden," because the similarity of the two names is far too close to be a coincidence. Symbolically, it makes a lot of sense. So there you have it._**

**_Lastly, I've added the popular suffice "-hotep" to Yami's real name because "Atem," by itself, is the name of a creator god. While innumerable kings in Egypt were named after gods, I am unaware of a situation in which the king simply took the name of said god as his own. Thus, Atemhotep, or "Atem is satisfied." This same rationale extends to his successor; Seti/Sethos makes more sense than Seto (in my opinion) because the latter is the Japanese romanization of the name of the god of chaos, Set. By adding an "-i" to it, it changes the meaning of Seto's previous incarnation to, "Man of Set."_**

**_Okay. I've rambled on about Egyptian linguistics long enough. I not only accept but embrace any criticism in regards to my research. I'm an enthusiastic amateur when it comes to Egyptology; nothing more._**

**_'Til next time._**


	6. UnWelcome Home

_**It is, perhaps, here that I truly begin to lay the groundwork for the mythology of this particular story. It's a throwback to the first installment, when the Ishtars received their Millennium Items, after the apparently failed quest of the Nameless King. After all, if two items have returned…it stands to reason that the others would come back, right?**_

_** Let's find out, shall we?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"…Doctor Ishtar says she's planning a trip for her classes pretty soon. To see the pyramids and stuff. I really think this might be fun. What do you think, Niisama?"

Seto's face was a gold mine of information when one knew how to search it. To the layman, he looked about as interested in his brother's conversation as he would have been in a lecture on the world's greatest lawn mowers. But Noa couldn't help but notice clear-cut signs that he was not only paying attention, but focusing almost entirely upon Mokuba as the boy continued to talk.

His mouth twitched continually, sometimes down, sometimes up, fighting both the urge to frown and to smile. His eyes, too, flickered from his brother, and the book in Mokuba's hands, to the road unrolling in front of him. Noa thought that Seto was probably torn between his disdain for Isis Ishtar and her field of study, and pride at the idea of his brother attending college-level courses. He wanted to be disapproving, in other words, but couldn't.

Mokuba looked up from his new textbook, awaiting his brother's answer. "…Niisama?"

Seto cleared his throat. "That's…fine," he said. "If you'd like to study Egyptology, you have my permission. I'll sign you up tomorrow, if you'd like. I would ask, however, that you not discuss…_Doctor_ Ishtar's theories with me without a research paper and a complete bibliography to back it up."

_Nice save, _Noa thought, unable to keep the smirk from his face. He watched through the rear-view mirror as Mokuba's face shifted from anticipatory nervousness to a bright, effervescent grin. There was even a bit of a competitive gleam in his grey-violet eyes now, as he began to sort through the evidence he would no doubt soon be gathering in order to prove beyond doubt that his brother had once been a king.

"I can't use a works cited page?" Mokuba asked.

Seto snorted. "No. Bibliography. Five pages, at minimum. And _single-_spaced. Double-spacing is a waste of paper _and _my time. I'll see you work at this, do you understand? Furthermore, you are only permitted to use Ishtar as a source in order to _establish_ the theory, _not _to prove it. I already know _she _believes in that garbage."

"And any reference to Yugi Mutou will result in an automatic 'F'," Noa declared, chuckling.

For the first time, Seto looked at his stepbrother with something resembling approval. "Yes," he said emphatically, "exactly. Mutou—and _Wikipedia_ for that matter—is off-limits. Is this understood, Mokuba? Should I provide a hand-out for you?"

"How much of my grade is this essay worth?" Mokuba asked, grinning from ear to ear now.

"Essay?" Seto repeated scornfully. "Oh, no, you misunderstand me. If you want to convince me of _anything_, you'd better not hand me an _essay. _This needs to be worthy of a Master's _thesis _if you expect anything to come of it."

Mokuba laughed. "I think those are longer than five pages."

"I doubt it will be graded at all," Noa said. "It will either be accepted or not."

"So what happens if I pass?"

Seto frowned, thinking, for a moment. "If you manage to convince me that I'm a reincarnated priest, I'll put you at the helm of Kaiba-Corp's next project, and award you the salary due your position as vice-president for the duration of the game's development."

Noa actually _saw _Mokuba's eyes fall out of his head. "Oh, you're _on."_

Seto responded with a smirk. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it."

"Tch. I don't need _luck,"_ Mokuba replied, sounding so much like his brother that Noa blinked in surprise. "Luck is for the weak." The sandy-haired Kaiba turned to look at the boy, raising an eyebrow at him. Mokuba's eyes twinkled, and he winked.

Seto actually laughed. _"That's_ my vice-president," he said. "Just what I wanted to hear. All right, then. You go to this class of Ishtar's, Mokuba, and make sure to take as many notes as humanly possible. You'll need all the ammunition you can scrounge together."

Mokuba was bursting with glee, to the point that Noa thought he might jump out of his brother's car and run down the street to work off the excess energy. "Aye-aye, Niisama!" the boy cried, and actually saluted. Seto nodded, clearly pleased, and turned his attention back to driving. Noa leaned back in his seat and felt the urge to laugh.

_One joke…one joke that might not have even _been _a joke, _Noa thought wonderingly, _and you not only made him forget how uncomfortable you obviously were with the idea, but actually made him _more _motivated. _

Noa realized—as Seto drove toward the mansion that had been _his_ home for the first ten years of his life—that the scene that had unfolded in front of him was about as clear an example of his stepbrothers' relationship as he was ever going to witness.

Seto had lifted Mokuba's mood, and Mokuba had in turn lifted Seto's.

People often compared Seto's relationship with Mokuba to Gozaburo's relationship with Noa. But that, Noa realized, was not only ridiculous, but insulting. He had to wonder how people could be so fundamentally blind.

Kaiba Gozaburo had _never _looked as happy as Seto did right now.

For that matter, neither had Noa.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Waking up with three pounds of solid gold on one's chest would be a disconcerting experience for anyone.

Unless one happened to be Yugi Mutou.

Nonetheless, Yugi opened his eyes, frowning at the (un)familiar weight, and when he spied the Millennium Puzzle resting upon him, he let out a yell of abject surprise and tumbled out of bed, the golden pyramid leading.

The artifact _clunked _onto his floor and dug into his midriff, driving what breath he retained straight out of him. Groaning, he flopped onto his back, tangled in his sheets, and stared up at the ceiling. As he waited for his body to regain control of itself, he wondered how long it had been. How long since he had felt this weight.

How long since he had felt this burden.

More than just his neck, more than just his back...Yugi's entire body was aching.

He sighed, and was only slightly surprised when he felt a smile tugging at his lips. It had always been like this...hadn't it? A combination of fun and exasperation; adrenaline and apprehension.

People talked about "frenemies." They had no idea just how confounding a person like that actually was. They had never met the Gambling King. The Ghost of the Golden Age.

Atemhotep...the Forgotten One.

Yugi heard footsteps approaching his door, and he turned his head to watch as it opened and his mother stepped inside. She frowned at him. "Yugi? What happened? You screamed." Yugi slowly, so slowly, rose to a sitting position. He blinked, shook his head, and dared to look across the room at his desk, where an achingly, hauntingly familiar apparition was watching him, as it made a glinting silver coin dance through the fingers of its right hand.

Looking at his own right hand, Yugi could almost feel that coin.

"Yugi?"

Natsumi Mutou was looking legitimately worried now. She crossed her arms, and Yugi gave a dopey little grin and said, "Uh...yeah, Mom. Fine. Just...had a really weird dream."

"...That's your puzzle, isn't it? The one your grandpa gave you? I thought you said you lost that last year."

Yugi looked down at it, cradled it, felt its familiar edges and grooves. "Yeah. I, uh...was just kinda...looking through some stuff last night and...and I found it. Craziest thing, huh?" He grinned again, and it felt fake.

Natsumi raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Well, that's good luck. Keep a better eye on that next time."

"Yeah. Sure, Mom. Definitely. Hey...what time is it?"

"Seven-thirty. The shop's about to open. You'd better hurry up and get ready. Dad wants you to man the counter today."

"Dad?" Yugi asked stupidly.

Natsumi flinched, looked guilty, and cleared her throat. "Uh...sorry. _My _dad. Grandpa. He...expects a big crowd today. That new shipment just came in. You should...go and get ready." She said this last sentence entirely too quickly, and left the room like her shoes were on fire.

Yugi watched the empty doorway for a moment before flopping back onto the floor and cursing.

"...She's looking well, _Aibou."_

Yugi snickered bitterly. "Yeah. Sure, she is."

"You don't sound surprised to hear my voice."

"All honesty? I'm not."

He felt it when the spirit raised an eyebrow, reached up and rubbed his own. "You aren't," Yami said slowly. His tone had lost some of its sarcastic bite. Yugi lifted himself, with great effort, and stumbled to his feet. He turned to face his (what he'd thought to be former) partner and saw...

Was it...fear?

"Well, _Aibou..." _the former king said, still in that slow, neutral tone, "...I am."

Yugi blinked.

"This...wasn't supposed to happen," Yami continued. "I was finished. It was over. All the damned..._fucking _games."

It had been strange for Yugi to hear his former incarnation use modern curses when he'd _started _doing it, a few months before the end. How much stranger to hear it _now, _so many months _after _the end. As Yugi sat there, thinking about his brief spell as the sole inhabitant of his own body, it became more and more surprising to find that he'd told the truth; it _didn't _surprise him to have the gambler back. It really...really didn't. How could something be so surprising...when it _wasn't?_

The innumerable conundrums for which this psychological Rubik's Cube was responsible.

And then he realized what Yami had said.

Yugi blinked. "...But...wait. You..._love _games. Are you telling me this whole thing...doesn't excite you? It _would _have, before."

Yami cleared his throat and sighed. He looked sullen now, and it looked wrong. It looked like he'd lost his touch. _"Aibou..._think about this. I'm here. The puzzle is around your neck, around _my _neck," he lifted it with one hand and let it drop back against his midriff, "like a cosmic ball and chain. It was _over. _Do you understand what it's like for me to go about life without an adversary? Without a challenge? Do you know how horrendously _boring _it is to overcome every obstacle that comes my way?"

It would have sounded arrogant from anyone else; it sounded arrogant from _him._

But somehow, Yugi thought, it sounded fake, too. Like Yami was just...going through the motions. He sounded like he'd given up. For the first time since meeting him, Yugi thought this spirit of a king actually sounded dead.

This was _not _something that should have been thrown at him so early in the morning. Seriously unfair. He could barely think, but he couldn't help but consider the inevitable panic attack that would send him into hysterics as soon as he fully understood what this waking dream actually meant.

"Crawford...Ishtar...that idiot with green hair—" Yugi wasn't sure if he meant Noa Kaiba or the king of Atlantis, but he did smirk a bit at the idea of _Yami_ making fun of someone's hair, "—and...that spirit of the Ring. All of them. Pointless. All of them, defeated. You and I, _Aibou, _we...stood against the best this world had to offer. And we defeated them all."

"You wanted to die," Yugi said slowly, "because there wasn't anything left to do. You were done. No more games, no more gambles...and you were tired."

Yami scowled, clearly nonplussed that _he'd _been read like a book for once, but he nodded. "You have it."

Yugi stood, thinking that there was no point in worrying about the fact that he was neither overjoyed nor mortified to have Yami back; it just...was what it was. A friend. An enemy. A mystery.

A puzzle.

"Well," said the vessel for the King of Games as he sifted through his dresser for something to wear before his grandfather came barreling in the room to accost him with the vacuum cleaner like _last _time he'd been late for work, "all's not lost, you know. No need to go emo on us now. We already _look _the part, we shouldn't act it."

He turned back and watched Yami's face contort with confusion. "...Emo?"

Yugi grinned. "We should see if Kaiba wants to come over and welcome you back. Think he'll bring a cake to celebrate the occasion?"

Right on target.

Yami's eyes went wide, his glum expression going slack. And almost like a flipbook being flipped entirely too slowly, a positively evil grin rose on his sharp, transparent face. Just like old times, Yami looked like a cross between a child at a carnival and a mass-murderer testing out his first chainsaw.

"If he does..." the gambler said in a low, excited whisper, "...I hope it's poisoned."

Yugi rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"Welcome home, Yami."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

He had liked the dark once. The night.

The softness that settled over everything, the gentle calm that met the sunset like a caretaker, ready to sing the world to sleep. He had courted the night, loved it and sat with it over a piping mug of hot chocolate and a book from the library; not checked out, but purchased second- (third-, fourth-)hand on those dime racks where even hardcovers were a pittance. He had thought of it like adopting them, as if these battered, torn, stained volumes were abandoned children, and he was now taking care of them, showing them that someone was still willing to listen to them.

So yes…he had liked the night. Once.

Until _he _came.

Ryou Bakura didn't even know if it was fair to call the thing male or not. Whatever _it _was that lived inside the swirl and spikes of gold in the Black Hag's Wedding Band; if Ryou courted the night, then this thing raped it.

Darkness filled him with shame, shadows with terror. His favorite orphaned books were blotched with red, because some nights he would take hold of one of his treasured stories without realizing his fingertips were dark and sticky with blood.

Silence drove him crazy. The cool, crisp air he'd once sucked in like a fine wine made him choke. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands shook. He felt like a palsied, crippled old man, and he wasn't yet out of his teens.

And _it _was the catalyst. The conduit to insanity.

_It _held him in thrall, in chains locked tight around his throat. And there was only one book that he could read anymore without _it _dripping its crimson venom onto the pages like a salivating viper. Ryou's lips would quiver as he read, whispered, huddled in the fetal position in the farthest corner of Our Lady of Harmony; he couldn't go home. Home was empty. Home was dank and desolate.

Home was his coffin.

The maddening part of it was that for a while, he had thought he was free from it all. That it was over. That _it _was over. He had tried to stand up, to walk on feet that didn't feel like his own, with legs that were the hollow limbs of a marionette. Ryou had gone back to school to finally finish his senior year; he had plans to go on to Westridge. He had a job with one of the city's newspapers.

He'd thought his life was finally returning to him, all thanks to Yugi Mutou.

He'd been on his bicycle, papers in the bag slung over his shoulder and looking forward to a long overdue meeting with the principal of Domino High School. He'd picked up a new book, he was fully stocked on chocolate, and he even had homemade marshmallows thanks to an internet tutorial he'd happened to find squirreled away in a spam email.

He'd been grinning, nodding his head in rhythm to the music in his headphones, daring at last to be happy—he thought he might stop by the Turtle Game Shop on the way home and visit with his friends—when his entire world went…black.

Mercifully, he didn't actually feel, hear, see _anything. _It all just went black, as if someone had bashed him over the head with a blunt instrument. It felt like a soft, silken blanket being wrapped around his body. His thoughts were blissfully, beautifully absent. His mind was quiet, his heart content, and he didn't remember anything. He didn't think of anything. All he felt was that lovely, seductive darkness.

He remembered how he'd loved the night.

It brought him back to…before. To Amane, to Mother. To Father, who never spent more than a handful of days at the home he "shared" with his son and who almost never remembered to write anymore. Father, who took to the unraveling of his family as an excuse to abandon what little of it was left behind. Or at least, that's what _it _said, when he wasn't swathed in beautiful darkness and resting so peacefully in nothing. He'd grown to believe _it. _There wasn't much of a point to arguing otherwise.

One, _it _didn't listen.

And two…well. Wasn't it true?

Wasn't _it _right?

It didn't matter. He was happy. He was contented. He was warm, he was safe. He was with the night. Father? Mother? Amane? They were here. They were with him in the night, and even if they weren't…what did it matter? He was warm. He was safe.

The night cradled him.

The night protected him.

When _it _was in control, the night…helped.

Yes. It helped.

And then he woke; the world returned, the blanket slipped off, and he was cold. He met with the realization that _it _wasn't over. No longer was he riding his bike in the damp _newness _of dawn. The _real _night met him, and it met him with anger, and betrayal, and shame.

He was staring out the window of his own bedroom.

Ryou Bakura wanted to cry, thought that there was no way that he wouldn't cry, but after a while…he realized that he just didn't remember how. He turned away from the window, didn't even stop to truly see the bag of bloodstained newspapers tossed unceremoniously into a corner of his room.

He stepped into the bathroom, turned on the light, and ran the faucet. He began washing red from his face, not even bothering to question whether it had come from himself or not. He was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he finally realized the familiar weight of the Millennium Ring pulling on his neck.

Except…it wasn't. The weight wasn't on his neck; only a ghost of feeling was on his neck. The weight…the _real _weight…was on his chest. Over his heart. He blinked, looked down at himself. Sudden dread welling up from within, Ryou all but ripped off his shirt.

The haunting, familiar gleam met his gaze.

He touched it, breath coming in gasps.

The Millennium Ring was grafted to his skin.

Then he heard the voice, thin and high, deep and dead, warped and warbling:

_**DId yOu mISs mE?**_

Ryou Bakura remembered how to cry.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

He looked out of the window of the car and found himself staring at memory. Not _a _memory, not one memory or two or a thousand, but _all _memories. The house was the nexus of everything he had ever known. His entire life was…here. This house. This estate. These grounds, these gates, these memories.

"We're home!" Mokuba cried like a one-man welcoming committee, and Noa watched for Seto's flinch, sure that the words would offend him. But he didn't flinch. He remained cold-stone still, and when he took his keys in hand and opened the driver's-side door, it was like the boy hadn't said a word.

Noa opened his own door and wondered if _that _was the trigger he'd been waiting for. He knew what Morris Jay knew: Seto did not want him here. Seto did not want an old enemy stepping onto his own property. Of course he didn't. He was a Kaiba, and a Kaiba did only one thing with enemies.

That one thing did not involve forgiveness.

But in this, as in so many things, Seto could not deny his brother. Mokuba was special. Not because he was smart, or manipulative, or dedicated to anything he did, although all these things were true. It wasn't because his smile brightened a room, although _that _was true. It wasn't even because he was one of a handful of people in the world who proudly proclaimed to love the man, although that, too, was true.

It was repentance.

Noa was sure that when Seto looked back on his life, he felt no bitterness. This would have sounded ludicrous to almost anyone else—Seto Kaiba was bitter about _everything, _they would have said—but Noa was nothing if not studious, and he knew better.

He had watched them. For untold years, he had watched them both. He knew. The death of his mother, the suicide of his father; being pawned off by his godparents after his rather pitiful inheritance had been sucked dry; the Children's Home, the tyranny of Kaiba Gozaburo, the death threats, the _apocalypses…_he felt no bitterness about _any _of it. If he felt anything at all, it was probably some twisted form of gratitude.

No. It was when Seto Kaiba looked at his _brother's _life that he grew bitter, and guilty, and felt shame. It was when he thought of Mokuba having never met his own mother, when he thought of Mokuba losing his father—barely more than a stranger, a shadow with a face—at three years old. It was when he thought of the abductions, and the death threats, and the terror, the heartache, the stress…all before leaving elementary school.

Mokuba Kaiba had gone through all of that without breaking. Without complaining, without blaming. Without hating the man who was supposed to protect him. He was angry at nothing, at no one. He went to school, he made his grades. He went to work, he kept the teams motivated. He cleaned his room and ate his vegetables and brushed his teeth. He went to bed on time, without complaint, and he took a shower every morning.

All this without hating his Niisama, who surely hated himself.

And so, when his baby brother actually _asked_ for something, Seto could not—and _would _not—refuse him. Even if it was to forgive an enemy.

Not that Seto had actually _forgiven _him, but it was close enough for government work. It was close enough to allow the man under his roof, which was more than had ever happened at any other's request. More than would have happened to any other enemy.

Noa knew this, and he knew what it meant. He knew that he was on probation, and that if he did not treat his new life accordingly, then he would be removed from anything even remotely resembling his family, probably for the rest of eternity. Seto was the head of the Kaiba family now. Mokuba filled Noa's old position, and Noa figured that he should feel lucky to have been promoted to the status of "third wheel." And besides…Seto didn't consider him family, true, but Mokuba did. And that was all that really mattered to either of them. In that, they were of a mind.

He was dressed in blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt that Mokuba had picked out for him. The shirt was emblazoned with large, white block lettering which read: I'M KIND OF A BIG DEAL. Noa had already decided that he loved it.

_Of course you do, _came a voice in his mind that he thought he recognized, but didn't feel like admitting it to himself. _The brat gave it to you; it could have been spun of steel wool and infested with fire ants and you would have thought it the most comfortable garment ever crafted. You would have knelt before him like a knight accepting his lady's favor. Pathetic._

He _did _feel somewhat underdressed, to be honest, as he stepped onto the meticulously sculpted lawn and made his way up the walk toward the palace that had once belonged to his father. But he found a grin anyway, because yes. That was true. Mokuba had picked it out for him, and that made it important.

More than enough reason for him.

As Seto approached the front door, it opened. They all three stepped inside; Seto with his $1,200 imported leather dress shoes; Mokuba with his worn but well-crafted sneakers; Noa with tan work boots—again, picked out by Mokuba, resident fashion expert, who held that they were _awesome—_and Noa was struck by how similar everything looked…and how different everything _felt._

A rather stunning young woman stood in the entryway, dressed in a modest but sharp black suit—Mokuba had mentioned her; he called her Kiko—with dark brown hair tumbling down a few inches past her shoulders. She bowed deeply, and when she rose, her eyes sparkled and her smile reached her ears.

_"Okairinasai," _said she, in a voice like music.

Staring, half in a trance and barely able to remember what it meant to talk, Noa Kaiba murmured: "…_Tadaima."_

* * *

__**END.**

* * *

"_**Okairinasai" and "Tadaima" are rather traditional greetings when entering a house. The former can be translated as, "Welcome home," and the latter as, "I'm back."**_

_** I've given a few extra names to the Millennium Items, because that's what tends to happen with ancient artifacts. Different cultures have different names for things; in the case of the Millennium Rod, we have God's Finger, the Needle, et cetera. And for the Millennium Ring, we have the Black Hag's Wedding Band.**_

_** Those of you who have read my oneshot story, "The Gambler's Debts," or the longer and more substantial "Cemetery Dance" will likely recognize the personality I've given to the spirit of the Puzzle. This Yami will, without specific reason, be present in just about everything from now on. I think he matches the personality originally crafted for the manga. Furthermore, I have a sneaking suspicion that his shift to Traditional Hero was not Takahashi's original intention. So, I've elected to make Yami a bit different.**_

_** On a final note, I have a second suspicion that many who profess to be Christian are simply paying lip service, but that plenty are honest in their faith and truly love God and His teachings. I also believe that Ryou Bakura is one of a last group, a broken group, who rely on that faith simply to remain alive. To exist. That kid's had a raw deal, and I've long been of the opinion that very few things could keep him together.**_

_** Faith is one of the only ones that hold any resonance for me.**_


	7. Bait, Switch

_**This part of the story, for lack of a more sophisticated and exciting term, is a setup. Things are slowly coming to fruition with this one, and this particular series of scenes is one of those things that are necessary to set the stage for the "good stuff."**_

_** So it kind of jumps all over the place.**_

_** Hopefully, in spite of the fact that this chapter is a rough analogy for how my brain works on any given day, you find it to be entertaining. I mean, hey, it explores the relationship between Yugi and Yami in a way that I haven't seen done all that much. That's something, right?**_

_** All joking aside, have fun with this one. I did.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"He's…back?"

It was hard to read the expression on Yugi's face. It was enough like a smile that it might have meant happiness, but enough like a grimace that it might have meant physical pain. Joey thought he understood.

It was the look of…God this sounded wrong, but it was the look of an abused woman taking back an old boyfriend not because she thought he'd changed, but because he'd gotten out of jail and she still loved him. The metaphor wasn't perfect, but it was close enough to make it right fucking depressing.

And the bitch of it was that Joey understood. All too well. He'd missed the psychotic sonuvabitch, too. Damned if he hadn't, and damned if he hadn't realized it until now. It was like something had been missing for the past couple of years. Some twisted, codependent part of him sang that it was whole again upon seeing the Millennium Puzzle around his best friend's neck.

…Fuck.

"Yeah," Yugi said, lifting the puzzle. "He's back."

"Thought we got this beat," Tristan said, but he didn't sound all that disappointed, either.

"Wasn't he laid to rest?" Téa asked, and she actually sounded worried. Like they should have, but didn't. "I mean…wasn't this whole thing done and over with? You…you laid him to rest! _We _laid him to rest!"

"Guess not," Yugi murmured, not quite sulking but close. He looked up and half-smiled. "But…we'll just have to help him again."

And…yes. That was it, wasn't it? Just that fuck-all simple, wasn't it? Joey found a grin that he didn't want to find, as he realized that he didn't mind the idea so much. He really didn't. "You betcher ass," he said.

Tristan nodded. "Damn straight."

Téa was smiling.

And then Yugi was gone. Just like that, he wasn't there anymore. No fanfare, no glowing, no flashes of light or a sudden seizing of his muscles like he'd just been electrocuted. One moment he was himself, and then his face just…shifted. Like he'd turned to look at the window. Yami sat there, Atemhotep, the Big 3-4, and he looked…tired. The spirit looked at them all and found a half-smile, half-sneer of his own, but it wasn't like his usual cocky air of superiority. For the first time, he looked defeated.

Yami cleared his throat, coughing as if he wasn't prepared to speak. He composed himself and said, "I must thank you all for doing this. For this display of loyalty. I know now that you do this more for Yugi's benefit than for mine."

Téa started to speak. "No! That's not—"

"No. No. Don't say it. I thank you for it." Yami found a smile, and it actually _looked _like a smile, not a smirk. Joey suddenly felt cold. The man was being honest. For perhaps the first time since they'd met the spirit of the Millennium Puzzle—the Unifier, the Spirit King—he was being sincere. He was _fucking _sincere. "Yugi is far more deserving of your loyalty than I. And we all know it." His smile sharpened into a ghost of his usual expression, and Joey actually felt better. "Make no mistake. You can hide no secrets from me. Battered, broken, and out of practice as I am, I can still read you like books." He chuckled. It was quiet, subdued, but it stung. "But worry not. That is, as the scholars say, neither here nor there."

They stared, and Yami stood up. He slipped his hands into his pockets as he stepped around the table. "I am not here to lead the charge. To fight. I was given my chance to carry _mayet, _and I in my arrogance have failed." He did not sound bitter, but resigned. "I am here to serve as a guide. A warning. I am…fallen."

He grimaced, sighed, looked at them.

Was that…shame?

"Another will step in as the chief instrument of the gods. My time is done. I will be his test. His obstacle." He reached up with one hand and clutched the chain holding the Millennium Puzzle around his neck, as if it were keeping him upright. Maybe it was. "Pray with everything you have that he beats me this time. If he doesn't, the cycle breaks. And we all forfeit."

"Forfeit…what?"

The old fire blazed back into Atemhotep's wine-colored eyes, and the word seared into their minds.

"Everything."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

The switch.

With people like that, it's always the goddamn switch. Joey remembered telling Serenity about it once, when she hadn't understood why their mother's taste in men was so balls-up fucked abysmal. He'd said, "Ren, it's how we work. All assholes got us a switch." He'd touched the spot just above his right eye with one finger. "Right here. Call it the Fuck-You switch, pardon the language."

She'd smiled at that.

"Flip it one way, y'got your halfway decent sumbitch who tries. Goddamn it, does he try, and you know he's tryin', so you forgive the slips. Just try yer best, ain't that what they all say? Well, we got more reason to try than most, so when we flip that switch, we come out like saints."

Serenity had blinked then, clearly surprised with a shot of confusion tossed on like garnish or extra flavor. Joey'd flashed a grin. "That's the 'Off' position. If yer lucky, ya figure out how to flip it that way 'n duct tape it the fuck there."

"You're a regular poet, big brother."

"Yeah. Sorry. Old habits. Anyway, the real problem izzat the 'On' position...aw, hell. We turn that on when shit's gotta get done, y'know? But sometimes it comes on when ya don't want it, and that's when ya gotcher domestic disputes. Stupid shit like half-full salt shakers 'n collectin' old newspapers in the garage blow up into frickin' nuclear skirmishes. Ladies 'n gentlemen, we're at fuckin' Defcon 2. We turn into bulls, an' if we're lucky we got us a matador to distract us before we run horn-first into that fuckin' China shop."

"And Mom...she's a matador?"

Joey'd laughed. "Ma's the fuckin' cape. She tries like a sonuvabitch to get that switch flipped off, and she never seems t' notice the guys she picks out don't even have one anymore. They're stuck. Full throttle. She thinks she can fix it. But it ain't broken. It just plain ain't _there."_

He'd told his sister that he could think of three people off the top of his head like that: Dad (Granddaddy of 'em all, the drunk _fuck), _Kaiba, and Yami.

"...I don't know. I mean, Dad, sure. No question." She was saying that to be diplomatic. She didn't know the truth. Joey knew she didn't, and he loved her for saying it anyway. "But...Mister Kaiba? Yami? What about Mokuba, and Yugi?"

"They got remote controls're somethin'. I dunno Maybe the switches ain't broke, but they're sure's hell rusted."

Now Joey realized that his sister had been right. Yami _did _have a switch. And after his speech—cryptic like always, but ten times creepier than usual—he flipped it back On. Blink of the fingers, snap of the eye, that was it. Done. So quick it felt like a car slamming on the brakes at a red light that just popped out of nowhere like a chute of bamboo on crack.

_Man, I'm just chock-full o' poetry, _he thought, and found a rather psychotic-sounding chuckle.

But just the same, it was a kind of relief to see him back. Back to normal. Back to his default setting. Because Yami and somber were two things Joey didn't ever want to see again. Far as Joey was concerned, it was a sign of the Apocalypse. He said, "So…somebody else's gotta find the Millennium Items again?"

Yami nodded. "Indeed. The cycle begins anew, and I am no longer a catalyst."

"Do you know who _is?"_

The smirk that rose on Yami's face was entirely too familiar to be a mistake. He was really back. No more sullen defeat. No more dank depression. The man was back; the gambler was back. The batshit-crazy motherfucker who just happened to be on their side. Sure, Yami had his moments of nobility and chivalry, and every once in a while it was easy to forget this part of him, but for the most part…the man was a fucking loon.

Téa didn't see it near as much as Tristan did, and Tristan didn't see if half as well as Joey, who knew that look better than anyone: that look of cold, sharp _need. _That look that said, "Fuck you, world, I'm in it for _me."_

Yami was a gambler. At his core. He usually gambled for the right side; that much was true. But he was in it for the rush, for the game. He was in it for the challenge. He didn't care much one way or the other what was at stake, so long as the adrenaline was flowing. And Joey understood that, more than any of the others, because his entire early teens had been encompassed by that same mentality.

And _fuck, _it had felt good.

"I know," the spirit said, chuckling. "I know quite well. Whether _he _knows…well. That's the fun of it." He looked at the front door of the shop. He slipped a quarter out of his pocket and started flicking it in the air, like he was straight out of some "dark and edgy" comic book. He said, "I have answered the call of the gods. Now we prepare, and we wait for _him _to do the same. If my reckoning is correct…we will be waiting for some time yet."

"You gonna tell us who this guy is?" Joey asked, figuring he already knew the answer.

"That would ruin the surprise."

…Yep.

Goddamn it.

It was like it only took the man two minutes to adjust to a new existence. Like he'd been hammered with the realization only moments ago, and now that he'd vented about it, he was okay with it. Now that he'd set everything straight in his mind, he was back to his old self.

"You figure it'll take a while for this guy to show up?" Joey asked. "Or...girl. Whatever. Gods ain't sexist, are they?"

Yami raised an eyebrow at the blond, considering the question. "...Not all of them," he said.

"And...are we gonna know? Like, are there gonna be fireworks 'n confetti or whatever?"

Yami smirked. "You will know. A part of you has likely enough guessed already. But at the very least, _I_ will know." Joey pretended to be surprised by that statement, but honestly he wasn't. It felt like it was Yami's job, or at least a hobby of his, to know everything about everything in regards to everybody.

So yes. He would know. He always knew, and he _already_ knew.

He was just waiting.

The long-dead king stopped moving, all of a sudden. His eyes stopped their ceaseless scanning of the room and the people in it, locked dead-center on the front door of the shop, and his eyebrows raised.

"Oh," said he, looking honestly surprised for the first time in his life. "_That_ is new."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"Would you like something to drink, sir?"

Noa sat on a couch that should have been familiar, in a room that should have been familiar, and his brain was having trouble with a question that should have been familiar. He looked up at the woman—not Kiko, but another of the estate's house staff—who had asked it, and shook his head, finding himself unable to speak.

"Seto-sama?" the woman asked. Seto shook his head. "Bocchan?"

"Can I have a soda, please?"

The woman glanced fleetingly at Seto, who nodded. "At once, Bocchan."

Mokuba smiled as he hopped onto the couch next to Noa. Seto sat on a nearby chair. He leaned forward and looked Noa straight in the eye. He said, "Gozaburo's sister, Susumu, recently succumbed to lung cancer." He said the word, "succumbed," as though it were some kind of insult. Mokuba looked surprised, but Noa thought he understood what was going on. Seto continued, "You are her only child. You were kept secret at her insistence in order not to bring harm to you based on her brother's name and reputation. She's sent you here to keep you safe as a last resort."

Most people would have sounded conspiratorial, giving such a sermon. But Seto was saying it as though he were reading a report he'd been given on Noa's personal history. It was as though Noa was expected to not only adhere to this story, but believe it. He nodded. "Okaasama always was a cautious woman," he said, and winked at Mokuba.

"If anyone pries, keep this secret," Seto said. "You will wish to keep this quiet, as you want no one to know the truth. You are deeply affected by the suffering through which you saw your mother go, and the topic is too painful to discuss."

Mokuba stared. "…Niisama?"

"That way, if anyone _does _find out the story," Noa guessed, "they'll have no choice but to take it as the truth. I wouldn't be so secretive of a lie." A grin rose on his lips, and he nodded again. "Understood."

"You may choose any free bedroom on the second floor as your own," Seto said, and now he grimaced as though physically ill. "An account will be set in your name. Any expenses you procure will be taken from that account, and anything you earn will go into it. If you wish to begin working at Kaiba-Corp, you have permission to contact the director of human resources directly. Her name is Helen Aarden. As you are a member of the Kaiba family, a position is guaranteed to you; she will determine where best you will fit. You will begin at an entry-level position. To climb the ladder, you must do exactly that. You will gain no added assistance from me other than assurance that you will be hired. _Once._ If your performance does not match the company's standards, you _will _be let go. Am I clear?"

Noa smirked. "Crystal."

"Good." Seto stood. "Anything you need will be handled by the staff. If you wish to shop for any personal items to…personalize your space, I trust Mokuba will be willing to help you." He glanced at the boy, who nodded, and Noa couldn't help but feel as though Seto saw him as Mokuba's pet far more than he saw him as a person. Ironically enough, this was comforting. Sort of. "I have one question to ask of you," he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

Noa raised a curious eyebrow. "Yes?"

"…The Big Five. What was done with them?"

Noa had heard of things coming out of left field, but thought that this was perhaps the first time he had been fundamentally caught off-guard by a question. He recovered quickly, frowning as he thought how best to phrase his answer. Eventually he said: "They failed me. They failed _you. _I do not believe in third strikes. They were destroyed, the same as Otous—the same as my father was destroyed. There are no traces of them in my system. They are as dead as any living creature could ever become. I made sure of it."

Mokuba watched his "new" brother as he spoke, and Noa took note of the boy's expression. It was—perhaps unsurprisingly—conflicted. He looked half-relieved, half-concerned, and atop that was a sprinkling of fear. But he said nothing. Mokuba simply looked over at Seto, waiting for his answer.

Seto did not give one.

He simply walked away, passing the young maid as she stepped back into the room, Mokuba's drink in hand. Noa wondered if that single question had been a test, and on the heels of that he wondered if he had passed.

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

She was beautiful.

Okay, so maybe that was a weird thing for her to think. Tré lez, right? But she couldn't help it. It was the only word that really seemed to fit. It wasn't the kind of beautiful that you saw on models, super or otherwise, but a quiet kind of beauty that made her think of a meadow at sunset, or a mountain range. She wasn't cute, and she wasn't ravishing. She wasn't gorgeous, she wasn't hot, she wasn't...well. She was just...beautiful. That was it.

Katie McKinley wasn't known for shyness. She'd spent her entire life being the loud one, the forward one. She'd been the one to ask out her prom date, she'd pulled his chair out for him. She'd heard the usual adjectives: feisty, fiery, bitchy, raving loon. She was cool with that. It worked, in its way, and it'd taken her places. But for whatever reason, when it came to approaching the girl with the white hair, who was beautiful but not cute, Katie's legs froze and her brain shut off.

Renie, though...well, in the warped little two-step that was their lives together, Katie was the calm one. So she just kind of waltzed over without a thought. "Heya, stranger. Love the hair. How do you get your bangs to stay that way? Last time I tried, the hairspray company called and made me an honorary board member for my contributions."

She called herself Kay. Kay Mayer. And she looked at Renie, stared for a moment, then laughed. Katie stepped up, hands in the pockets of her coat, and offered her patented "I'm charming, don't fight it," grin.

"Hello," said Kay. "Ah...Eubank, and...McKinley, right?"

"Only in court," Renie said, holding out a hand. "Call me Renie."

"Kate," Katie offered with a grin. "Katie, Katherine, Stalker McPsycho. Any of the above." Kay smiled and shook the offered hands. "Saw you in C-Dev, with Doctor Donalds, didn't I? 8:30? How'd you do on that quiz?"

"Well enough," Kay said. "I was just heading to Milligan Hall. I haven't eaten since yesterday." She waved, and Katie would have been content to just wave back and head off on her way, figuring she was nice enough and maybe they'd see each other again. But Renie seemed to both exemplify and define every nerd stereotype on the planet by being obsessed, but unabashedly vocal and charismatic about that obsession. She asked the same question she'd asked every student who'd ever looked at her since enrolling at Brent Feuler University.

Kay raised an eyebrow. "...Kaiba? I think I've heard the name before, but...no, I guess I don't know him. Why do you ask?"

Katie was as devoted a fan as Renie was, but she was quiet, and she watched with soft amusement as her friend started The Pitch. It was friendly enough: go to the website, buy some merchandise, hang out, help orphans. She was born to sell, that much was obvious, and Katie had never once stopped her from waxing poetic on the initiative, or whatever she was calling it now. But every so often, Katie had thought of telling her to give it a rest.

And indeed, Kay Mayer didn't really seem too interested. She smiled politely and nodded in the right places, but that was about as far as it got. Katie finally decided to step forward, elbow her friend in the ribs, and say, "She forgot her medication this morning. If you're at all curious, please check the site. It's a great place, and last month we gave $3,300 to the Domino Children's Home. Don't let her scare you off. Please. But just the same, don't feel obligated. C'mon, Renie, let the girl eat. I'll see you in class."

Katie wouldn't have been surprised if she'd never heard from Kay Mayer again, but she did notice as they left the hall that the look of disinterest seemed to shift into some species of curiosity, but perhaps more importantly...

Familiarity.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Say it with me now: "Who the hell are the people in the last scene, and why should I care?"**_

_** Those of you who have read some of my previous works, "Back from the Dead" and "Paved with Good Intentions" most prominently, will recognize the McKinley family. They're a substantial part of a lot of my work, and are the rule, much more often than the exception, in a given project. While most of the screen-time, so to speak, is given to Darren Wilson McKinley, Domino City detective and the only "family friend" of the Kaibas this side of the millennium, there are other members involved as well.**_

_** Katherine "Katie" McKinley and Irena "Renie" Eubank are my answers to the idea that Seto has, to use the popular terminology, fangirls. But don't worry; there's more to them than meets the eye. I don't do one-dimensional. At least, not intentionally.**_

_** As for Kay Mayer…well…you'll see.**_

_** 'Til next time, everybody.**_


	8. Stretching Chains

_**I have been on a general hiatus for a while as I attempt to catch up on schoolwork and get things squared away for my transfer to university. As of now, I'm still on track but also unfinished, so we'll see how things go. In the meantime, I have here an update to the Cult's scripture.**_

_** I have called this story a mythology, and that probably doesn't make much sense yet. The reason for that is, this story is big. Not necessarily in terms of length just yet, but in terms of scope. I've been playing with this idea for years, and it's grown in accordance to that. I want to make sure that I do this one justice, because to do otherwise is unacceptable. I hold all writers to certain standards, and nowhere is this truer than in myself. Whether I match up to my own standards is a question I'm not qualified to answer, but suffice it to say the myth part of the equation will show up in time. I beg patience as I get to the point.**_

_** Hopefully, I have managed, and will continue to manage, to make it an entertaining ride along the way.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"They're...allowed to know, right, Niisama?"

Seto looked like he was actually running calculations in his head, trying to figure the risk-to-gain ratio, and Noa half-expected the man to shake his head. Thinking about it, Noa didn't think he'd actually heard the eldest Kaiba say _no _to the youngest in regards to _anything _so far, but he wondered if this would be one time where he would.

But then Noa thought back to what he knew about these two, to the research he had done, and he asked himself: when had Seto Kaiba—or Seto Yagami, for that matter—_ever _denied his baby brother? The answer would be yes. It had to be yes. No matter the level of hatred Seto may or may not hold for Yugi Mutou and his band, he would never make Mokuba keep something so important as family a secret from his friends.

His only friends.

They already knew the worst, anyway. Who Noa was. _What _he was. What he'd done and what he represented. Noa himself had seen to that. The part of the equation that worried Noa was whether or not Yugi and company would be half as forgiving of his previous conduct as Mokuba clearly was. Yugi probably would be. But Wheeler, and Taylor, and Gardner. Devlin, too. He'd been implicated, too.

Who knew with _them?_

It was a quiet but somewhat disturbing thought that Noa didn't much care what they thought about him, not honestly. But the level of anxiety on Mokuba's face right now as he all but begged his brother to let him reintroduce Noa to his friends, _that _had an effect on him. If he had to _make _them forgive him, he would do it. If only to make sure that Mokuba didn't worry anymore.

That was what mattered. He would bury the hatchet, and he would bend over backwards if that's what it took to get them to sign a peace treaty, if only to put Mokuba at ease. In that, he knew, he and Seto were of a mind. It didn't matter if he, personally, wanted their approval or not. Which, he figured, he didn't. He already had the approval he wanted. What mattered was that _Mokuba_ wanted their approval.

Noa wondered how much of that was readable on his face, because Seto was watching him now, and it wasn't with his usual dismissal. It was with something that looked suspiciously like interest. Eventually he looked back at Mokuba, and sighed. "Yes, Mokuba. Of course. But don't expect them to be asforgiving as you have been." Noa saw the man's face soften, and his eyes grow warm, and when he spoke next, Noa realized that for the first time he wasn't hearing Seto Kaiba, CEO of the Kaiba Corporation and richest man in the hemisphere.

He was hearing Mokuba Kaiba's big brother.

Mokuba Kaiba's Niisama.

"...Noa may be family, and _you _know that he did all in his power to save us from death," and it actually sounded sincere this time, "but _they_ may not realize this. To them, he may still be an enemy. Understand, Mokuba, that this might not go the way you want it to go."

Mokuba heard the change in his brother's tone, and seemed to understand that this wasn't the time to protest and proclaim that that won't happen, I'll _make _them understand, you'll see, just you watch. Instead he simply nodded his head and said, "Yes, Niisama."

They all three turned when someone entered the parlor; it was Kiko. She bowed. "My apologies for interrupting," she said, "but Mister Ackerman asked that you call him at three o'clock for a conference call with the Arizona branch if you are available, Seto-sama."

Seto checked his watch. "...Fine. Thank you." He looked over at Noa. "Copeland will drive you two to the Turtle Game Shop if you'd like to...visit." He grimaced, and turned his gaze to Mokuba. "Call him when you want a ride. I want you back home by six-thirty. As I recall, you have a science report to be drafting."

Mokuba nodded. "Yes, Niisama."

Seto looked back at Noa. "Look after him," he said.

It didn't feel like a request, or an order, or anything in between so much as it felt like a solemn oath spoken before a priest, a vow before God, and Noa nodded. Resolute and prepared, he said, _"Wakarimashita."_

Seto seemed to approve. He nodded, and walked away.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

The look on Yami's face reminded them all of a natural predator waiting, salivating, for its favorite prey. But more than that, he looked..._fascinated. _Those wine-colored windows of cold, calculated insanity were flickering, dodging and weaving as though searching for something. Absorbing something.

When the shop door opened, and the bell rang signifying someone's entrance, Yami bellowed out, before anyone else had even had a chance to turn and see who it was, a greeting that was boisterous, welcoming, and somehow threatening. "Welcome! The prodigal _and _prodigious sons return to our humble door!" He bowed deeply with a flourish, and his eyes were laughing.

At first Joey Wheeler had the absurd thought that Kaiba had lightened his hair. Then he realized that Kaiba wouldn't be caught dead in jeans, work boots, _or_ a t-shirt. Mokuba looked just like he always did, but the man standing next to him was an absolutely mystifying combination of Kaiba and...anti-Kaiba. His face was sharp, his eyes were blue, his gaze was intelligent. He was tall, carried himself with confidence, and he stood near the black-haired boy, just behind him, with an unmistakable air of protectiveness. It all said: this is Kaiba.

But just the same...the clothes, the light, sandy-brown hair, but most importantly the _expression _on that angular face screamed that it _wasn't _Kaiba, and only Yami seemed to understand what the holy hell was going on.

Mokuba looked like he was going to explode.

Of all people, Tristan actually looked like he recognized the guy. He was squinting, and his head was tilting to one side like he _really _wasn't sure, but all the same there was a part of that look that said this guy, this Kaiba-ish guy, looked familiar to him. Well, yeah, he looked familiar to Joey, too. That was the whole point.

Joey was close enough to Yami to hear that the spirit was mumbling to himself. He thought he caught, "...sign...this is proof...he _is _the one..." and the blond wondered which _one _he was talking about. He didn't bother to ask. He looked back over at the pair standing just in front of the doorway. Mokuba seemed to be so excited that he didn't know what to do with himself, and the Kaiba-not-Kaiba looked perfectly content to stand there looking at them until the next ice age.

He'd always thought that Kaiba looked like a statue sometimes, and from the various things Joey'd read, both online and in print, a lot of people agreed with him on that particular score. Nonetheless, Joey recounted the entire thing when he realized that _this _guy, whoever he was, was the genuine article. Yes, he'd walked in, and yes, he seemed to be breathing, but Joey couldn't help but think..._t__his _was a statue. _This _was barely animated, so fundamentally still that he had to be a damned mannequin. He just _had to be._

"You...you guys remember I told you that Niisama was working on a _super_ top-secret project?" Mokuba asked finally, and Joey was grateful that someone had broken the silence. Then he saw the living statue shift his weight, and the _spell _was broken, too. He felt his entire body relax. "Remember how I said it was _amazing, _and it was gonna change _everything?"_

"...Yes," said Tristan, who raised an eyebrow.

"What's going on, Mokuba?" Téa asked. "Who...who _is _this?"

Yami's grin was splitting his face.

The living statue stepped forward, squeezing Mokuba's shoulder as he passed, and he bowed low, deep, and formal, entirely at odds with his attire. And when he rose back to full height, he spoke, _too _smoothly, in flawless Japanese:

_"Watakushi no namae wa Kaiba Noa da. Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu."_

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"Has it healed?"

He'd been flexing his fist, hanging low in his lap, as he stared at his palm and seemed to be doing his level best to forget the fact that he was conscious. His face was contorted in a grimace of such rage and pain that it sent a cold shiver down Isis Ishtar's back. She thought that her little brother was far too young to be wearing such an expression.

She had never been a caretaker to Malik. That job had always gone to Rishid. And yet Isis had been the first of them to actually escape the shadow of their past, and in that wasn't she the greatest irony of all? She, who professed to a belief in destiny, in preordained paths and predetermined roles, had been first to step off the path of her family and forge a life of her own.

So she was the oldest, even though Rishid had been born some years before she had. She ran the Ishtar household, such as it was, and she now took it upon herself to keep track of her brothers in a way that she never had before. She saw the raw pain on Malik's face, those old wounds carved from fury and grief, and it made her heart sick.

She sat down on the couch beside him. He seemed not to notice her. He seemed not to notice anything. He was still in his slacks and polo shirt; he probably hadn't moved since coming home from work. His face was streaked with tears, and she could now see that his hand was still very much burned. He'd removed the bandage and likely rubbed off the cooling gel in a fit of anger, and now he just stared at the bright red flesh of his palm as though it held some vision of horror that she couldn't imagine. The horror of what that wound meant, of what he had done to earn that wound. Everything he had ever endured, everything he had ever done, everything he had ever lost, was in that wound.

For reasons that she couldn't have verbalized if she'd tried, Isis reached over and around her brother's thin shoulders and pulled him to her. He went easily, and leaned against her in silence, still holding his hand palm-up in his lap. She rubbed her brother's shoulder like he was ten years old again, and he said nothing.

He didn't make a sound.

Malik sat there, leaning against Isis with his cheek resting on her shoulder, for what felt like an eternity. She was content in silence, opting to let him say the first word, if he chose to speak at all. And after a second eternity had passed, she began to hum. It was an old song, a song she hadn't even realized she remembered until she started. The lullaby her mother had sung to her, to keep her happy in her life of isolation, her life of rigid control and brutal routine. And it _had _kept her happy. She had always thought that for all the bad there was in their lives as servants to the long-dead king, there was good, as well. They were a family, united not only through blood but through purpose, and she had never had to worry about growing apart from them.

It was probably why she had insisted that they all move in together, once everything changed. And it was probably why Malik and Rishid both had readily agreed. It was why they'd vowed to each other that they would always be together, that they would take the single shining virtue of their life of slavery; take it, steal it from the past, and keep it to themselves out of spite.

And so she sang, of love and togetherness, of loyalty and freedom. She sang of mercy, and gratitude, and peace. She sang of life. And when Rishid came in from the kitchen, he did not speak. He simply stood in the doorway and smiled.

Malik began to cry.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"I…who…how…_what?"_

To say that Mokuba Kaiba looked smug right now would be roughly analogous to calling the Atlantic Ocean a bit salty. Pride and excitement _glowed _in his grey-violet eyes, and it echoed in his voice. He was wearing the same Cheshire Cat grin he always wore when he was talking about his brother's exploits, but the charge, the current of excitement running through his entire body make it look almost predatory.

Like Yami.

If Mokuba was excited, though, then the spirit of the dead king was _rapturous. _They had all known that for whatever reason, Yami was rather attached to his rival. And they all remembered the torrential fury that had visited the ghost of Atemhotep when that rival had been turned to stone, seemingly trapped for eternity just inches from the boy standing in front of them, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a lunatic's grin on his face.

And who had done it? A stranger? A wanton sorcerer with a sadistic streak? God? No. It had been _this_ man. Family. The boy who shared this man's name. There was no reason to _steal _that name, after all. It had to be him. To the world at large, Kaiba Noa—firstborn of Gozaburo—was a long-forgotten memory; and to those few who knew him, he was an enemy. It _must _be him.

And yet…

"Welcome to my home," said Yami, looking as accommodating as a kindly old matron. "Truly, he works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. A glorious achievement for the world of science and technology."

The man with the light blue eyes and the sandy brown hair dared a quiet, unnerved little smile. Mokuba, his cheeks flushed, jumped up and down, so ecstatic that he didn't even consider that his new companion might _not _be welcome.

Then again, one look at Yami's face said it all too clearly: he _was _welcome, now and forever, and woe betide he—or she—who might dissent. And were any of the others _really _surprised? Not really, no. Not at all.

It made no sense, and that was precisely why it fit Yami perfectly.

Noa cleared his throat. "I thank you," he said, in a deep—though not as deep as the man who resembled him so closely, and not at all gravelly—voice that was warm, bright…and shamed. "I do not deserve your hospitality." Mokuba started to speak, but Noa put up a hand to quiet him. "There are words in no language with which I could properly apologize for my actions. I ask…no. I beg only this: that you permit me the chance to atone. If not for my sake…then for his."

Had there ever been a look so worshipping? So heart-wrenchingly open? Noa didn't look at Mokuba the way that Kaiba did, with such fierce pride that it burned or such desperate affection that it choked. The look on Noa's face was just…open. Naked. Defenseless and content with that. It was the look of the honestly faithful kneeling at the feet of God.

And all of a sudden, who Kaiba Noa was and what he had been didn't seem to matter very much anymore. Never had they heard a request so heartfelt, so remorseful. So honest. There was no choice but to accept it. No other option. There just…wasn't.

In Yugi's mind, as he sat in his soul room with a smile on his face and tears streaming from his eyes, he heard an all too familiar chuckle.

_**I'm almost disappointed that he's lying, **_Yami said, the words permeating in through the walls. Yugi blinked. _**So masterfully presented. So beautifully composed. And so…fundamentally **_**fake.**

"What do you mean?" Yugi asked.

_**He couldn't care less about our opinions of him if held at gunpoint, **_Yami replied, with that same dark amusement in his voice that had once kept Yugi awake at night. _**I'm sure that the last part is true. He loves the little Kaiba with a ferocity that I have never seen before. He may well love that boy more than Kaiba does. I doubt it, but it is admirable nonetheless.**_

"…I don't understand."

_**He is falling on the sword for us so that Mokuba will not have to make a choice, **_Yami said. _**He is offering to atone because we—you—are the boy's friends, and thus you are important. If not for that…this creature would murder us without so much as a twitch of an eyebrow.**_

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

"I understand, Seto-sama," Yoshimi Akiko said with a smile and a bow. "Of course. But…if I may ask…who _is _he? A friend? A cousin? A…?"

"Cousin," Seto said quickly. "The son of Koshinori Susumu. He is my predecessor's nephew." Akiko had noticed that in all the time she had worked at the Kaiba Estate, Seto never referred to Kaiba Gozaburo as his father. It was always his predecessor.

"And Noa-sama will be living at the house?"

"Yes." It seemed as though Seto were pulling the word out of himself, forcing it past his teeth. "Do as he asks of you…within reason. If you feel uncomfortable about any request he makes of you, tell Mokuba or myself. We will…handle it."

Akiko bowed again. "Of course, Seto-sama."

She tried to remember if her employer had ever said something like that before. He hadn't. She'd heard Roland Ackerman say once that, "He doesn't let anyone into his home that he wouldn't trust with his life." But she thought that, considering how pragmatic Seto was, the only reason he would say such a thing is if he thought it likely that Noa would ask her to do something…uncomfortable.

Akiko said, "…Is Bocchan safe with him?"

She expected him to say, "Yes, of course," or maybe she just hoped for it. Something else she'd heard Roland say was, "Of the ten people Master Kaiba _does _allow into the house, he trusts three of them alone with his brother. Myself, Miss Yoshimi, and Travis."

Surely, if Noa was now the fourth on that list, then Mokuba was safe with him…right? But the look on the eldest Kaiba's face was pained. Conflicted. Doubtful.

Scared.

And he said, "…If he isn't, then I have just made the worst mistake of my life. Again."

* * *

**Verse Six.**

* * *

"You start a new mythology class this week, don't you?"

Isis smiled and nodded. "Yes, Malik. I do."

Malik ran his hands through his bleach-blond hair and fidgeted for a while, like he wanted to say something but couldn't figure out how. Isis wondered if he was going to ask her if she could push it ahead a week so they could have a family outing, like he'd done a while back, the first time she'd taught a summer course.

He didn't.

Instead, he said, "Do you think…could you…use a…an assistant? Maybe for…for grading assignments or…something?"

Isis felt a pang. She had once offered her brother a position as her assistant in the classroom, when he had been struggling to find a job and had been ready to give up. He'd refused, saying that he had to find his own way, and didn't want to be a burden on her.

"Oh, Malik, I'm…I'm sorry," she said. Now that Malik _had_ found work, she guessed that he felt comfortable enough to ask. "I already signed on one of my students for that." Malik's face fell, and he nodded like he wanted her to think that it was no big deal. But she knew what it must have taken for Malik to swallow his pride and ask such a thing, how desperate he must have been to even try. She felt guilt like she'd never known start to strangle her heart.

Then she had an idea.

"But…" she said, and Malik turned to look at her. "How about something else? Would you be interested in helping me deliver lessons? Lecture? Answer questions?"

The look on her brother's face made Isis want to cry. He looked like an eight-year-old who'd just been asked if he wanted ice cream for dinner. "Absolutely!" he declared.

"All right, then," she said, wondering how she was going to get the okay on this experiment, and not caring all that much. She'd never seen a look of such gratitude on her little brother's face before, and seeing it now woke a maternal instinct in her that she hadn't consciously realized was even there.

"We'll work that out."

* * *

**Verse Seven.**

* * *

"_How?"_

It shouldn't have been possible for Mokuba's grin to get any wider, but somehow it did. He said, with a bubbly voice so filled with excitement and pride and unfiltered _happy _that they couldn't help but smile with him, "I told Noa that if he promised not to…you know…do stuff. I promised I'd convince Niisama to build him a new body."

Téa blinked. Her mouth seemed to unhinge. "…_Build?"_

Mokuba nodded.

Noa inclined his head. "This body of mine is completely synthetic. Created in a lab." He winked. "Can't divulge any secrets but…Seto-sama is ten times the genius I ever gave him credit for being. He did it. He really did it."

Yugi heard Yami make a curious sound in his throat. _**Hm. Honest emotion again. He feels for Kaiba, as well. **_

"That's…fuckin' amazing," Joey said.

"I knew he could do it," Mokuba declared, and his chest puffed out. "Niisama can do anything. He reverse-engineered the technology Gozaburo used to keep Noa alive in that virtual world."

"It's a touch more complicated than that, Mokuba," Noa said gently, with an adoring, accommodating smile. "But yes. Generally speaking, that is what he's done."

"Hey, uh…you thirsty or anything?" Tristan asked. "Wanna soda?" He sounded unsure of himself, like he didn't know whether Noa got thirsty or not.

Noa blinked, surprised. "Ah…no. No, thank you. I'm fine."

"Cool. Mokuba?"

The black-haired boy mulled this over for a moment. "Could I have a 7-Up, please?"

"Comin' up," Tristan said with a wink, and he left the room looking all too pleased to go. He wasn't frightened, not really, but it wouldn't have been out of the ballpark to call him nervous as hell. Mokuba noticed; that much was clear by the flinching glance he gave Noa as the brunette disappeared. But when Noa returned the look, Mokuba's entire being seemed to snap back to happy. He blinked, then looked at the card table where the others were seated.

Yami caught that look; Yugi was sure of it. He could only see what the spirit saw, when Yami had control of his body like this, and only then if he concentrated. If Yugi saw it…then Yami had seen it ten times over. "Would either of you care to sit?" he asked in a half-facsimile of politeness. Mokuba's smile widened, and he even gave a subconscious little nod of approval.

Right on target.

Noa held up a hand. "Synthetic," he said with a lopsided grin. "No fatigue."

"Is that right?" Yami asked.

"Well, I'm sure it has limits, but…for the most part, yes."

"Fascinating." Yami rubbed his chin. "And have you tested the limitations of this new body?"

Noa crossed his arms, looking half-nervous, half-embarrassed. "…After a fashion," he said. Mokuba's face fell. Noa saw this and ruffled his brother's hair. "Mokuba's still not too thrilled with the way Niisama's chosen to welcome me into the family."

"Truth be told…forgive me for sayin' this, but…but I'm surprised he even did it," Joey said. "I mean, don't get me wrong. Ya saved our asses when the whole Missile Crisis went down. Counts for somethin'. Counts for a lot. But Kaiba? Fuck. That guy holds grudges more 'n the Mafia."

_**He does not like this line of conversation, **_Yami noted. _**Speaking ill of Kaiba puts the little one on edge, which strikes heavily on Noa's protective instinct. **_"Do tell, Noa," Yami said aloud before the embers in Noa's eyes had a chance to catch, "what will you do, now that your life is your own again?"

Noa thought on this. He finally said, after a long silence, "Rebuild my reputation. Prove myself worthy of what Seto-sama has made of my family's name."

_**Seto-sama, **_Yami mused. _**Another acquiescence to the boy's wishes. Fascinating. **_Yugi had discovered rather quickly that this was his partner's favorite word.

A customer came in. Noa stepped to the side, and before Yugi could even think to come forward, or before Joey even had a chance to speak, the older Kaiba bowed and said, "Welcome to the Turtle Game Shop, sir. Can I help you find anything today?"

The customer, an older man who clearly didn't know what to do with himself, looked around at the shelves of merchandise like an arachnophobe in a museum of mutated tarantulas and said, "My granddaughter asked for a book. A…a dungeons and…something. For her birthday. Handbook? Manual? I don't…"

"Player's Handbook?" Noa asked. "Dungeon Master's Guide? Monster Manual?"

Recognition sparked in the man's face. "Yes. Yes, that sounds…"

"Did she specify the edition? Second, third? Three-point-five? Fourth? The _Essentials _line is also an option."

"Ah…fourth, I believe," the man said. He pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket. "Ah…ayuh…yes. Fourth."

"Okay, well, we have a bundle here with all three volumes," Noa said, gesturing as Joey lifted a shrink-wrapped box from a shelf and showed it to the man. "It retails for about a hundred dollars, but _just_ for you, we'll sell it for seventy." He winked. "Birthday discount."

In actuality, Sugoroku Mutou was far too stubborn to sell that particular product for anything less than ninety dollars, and that was on a sale. _**Shall I correct him? **_Yami asked, amused; and Yugi knew that he wouldn't.

Noa slipped some money to Joey without the customer noticing and went on, "And _just _for coming in today, we'll toss in a box of miniatures and a seven-piece set of dice." He strolled over to the counter like he'd been there a thousand times before, and pulled up the merchandise in question. "You let your granddaughter know when you give this to her. Have her bring in the receipt, and we'll be sure to set her up right and proper."

The man was grinning. "I certainly will! I wasn't sure about this place, but…thank you very much! I was expecting to pay _much_ more than this!"

Noa bowed again. "My pleasure."

Joey rang up the purchase, scribbling something onto the receipt, and asking for the man's name. He also asked for the name of the granddaughter.

"Alicia," the man said.

Joey wrote down another note and set it onto the top of the cash register, sticking it there with a strip of clear tape. "A'right, then, Charles. All set up. Y'oughtta tell Alicia we run a weekly game down here at the shop. Part o' what's called the _Encounters _program." The blond handed Charles a flyer. He grinned. "Thanks for stoppin' in. You let us know if we can setcha up for anythin' else down the road."

"Absolutely!"

Charles shook Joey's hand, shook Noa's hand, tipped his hat to the others, and left the shop with a grin on his face.

Joey was the first to speak: "…The hell was _that _about?"

Mokuba was staring.

Noa shrugged, gave that lopsided grin again, and said, "What can I say? I'm a good Samaritan."

Joey chuckled. Mokuba beamed. Téa looked impressed.

Yami—and by extension, Yugi—was the only one to notice that the sandy-haired man's smile never reached his light blue eyes.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_1. Wakarimashita_

**_This can be translated as: "Understood."_**

_2. Watakushi no namae wa Kaiba Noa da. Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu._

_**This phrase amounts to: "My name is Kaiba Noa. Pleased to meet you." Another way to translate this second phrase, the more accurate way (as I am given to understand) is: "Please treat me kindly."**_

_** By using the formal, yet humble, "Watakushi" to refer to himself, and yet using the informal (and potentially rude) form, "da," rather than the standard "desu" at the end of the first sentence, I was attempting to give Noa a bit of a duality. Polite, humble, yet still…off. This is also the reason for his display with Charles at the end of the chapter.**_

_** The "Dungeons & Dragons Encounters" program is a real program run by Wizards of the Coast as a way for new players to get into the game quickly and easily. Weekly sessions of the game are run at participating game/comic/hobby shops, and anyone is permitted a spot at the table, provided there's room. This felt like something Yugi and company would be involved in doing, and so I added it here.**_

_** It should be noted that, while Yami may be shrewd and quite capable of reading people, he's also a bit of a pessimist. Thus, it's a good idea to take anything he says with a grain of salt.**_

_** Or…is it?**_


	9. Merely a Psychosocial Construct

_**I have spent a lot of time and energy figuring out the Kaiba family. I dig, sift through the layers and try to determine just who they are, consciously, subconsciously, and unconsciously. It's gotten to the point where every piece of fanfiction I've ever written for the franchise has focused on the Kaibas in one way or the other.**_

_** When I wrote "Back from the Dead," I wanted to deal with Noa. I'm sure I've mentioned before that I failed rather spectacularly. Noa didn't have a personality in BftD; he was almost purely a foil for Seto. I did a few things right, but a lot of it was an exercise in futility. This is my answer to that. I intend to do it right this time.**_

_** What sort of relationship does Noa have with Mokuba? With Seto?**_

_** This chapter is dedicated to unraveling the answers to those questions.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"_You sound troubled, Master Kaiba. Distracted."_

Seto leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling of his office. His finger twitched as he contemplated terminating the call right then and there, without acknowledging the statement. But he already knew that Roland Ackerman wouldn't stop at _one_ attempt to get an answer. He would ask again, and again, and again. It was one of the reasons Seto trusted the man, where he trusted almost no one else: Roland didn't let him get away with his usual tactics; not anymore.

"I don't even want to think about how much money we've put into_...him," _Seto muttered. "Even Battle City wasn't as obscenely expensive as this debacle."

At the other end of the line, Roland was chuckling. _"Master Kaiba, I understand that self-doubt is most likely a foreign concept to you, but to most humans it's a normal occurrence, especially when it comes to decisions of this magnitude."_

"Yoshimi asked if Mokuba was safe with him."

The chuckling ceased. He seemed to catch that this wasn't a light conversation. Seto drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, watching the knuckles as shadows danced across them. This room, this sanctuary, where no one entered without expressed permission, should have felt secure. Safe. At least inasmuch as he wouldn't think about it. But right now it felt stifling.

Roland said, _"You aren't sure about the answer to that question. You still don't trust him."_

"Mokuba thinks he hid it well...the remorse of losing a brother." Seto himself thought that he hid the bitterness in his voice, but figured that he didn't. "People say that my Achilles' heel is my refusal to trust." That was, people who didn't know him personally. "His is trusting too easily."

"_You think you shouldn't have caved_," Roland guessed.

"I _shouldn't_ have," Seto said with a hard edge. "Damn it all, I should have stood firm. Everything in me screamed all through the damned project that I was making a mistake. Every time I look at him, I _know_ I've made a mistake."

"_It's too late now."_

Seto stood up and pushed his chair away. "I know that."

"_Do you?" _Roland pressed, and Seto envisioned the man leaning forward_. "Do you honestly? I know you, Master Kaiba. I'm one of a scant handful with the confidence to say that. You're thinking that if it goes too far, if it goes too long, then you always have the option of taking it back. You made him. Literally. And you can put him back where he was."_

Silence stepped into the room like an unwelcome guest, and Seto closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. He didn't bother to respond.

"_But if you do that..." _Roland continued, and there was something new in his voice, something Seto didn't quite recognize, _"...if you abort the project, or whatever mechanical jargon you've placed onto this to forget the fact that you _created a human being,_ the damage will be irreversible."_

Seto glared at the computer monitor behind him as if it were actually Roland. "I'm not an idiot, Roland," he snapped, and cursed himself for the bite in his tone. "I _know_ that."

"_Master Kaiba. Right now, your brother thinks you're a superhero. You've done something for him that no one else on this green earth could possibly do. Never mind what Noa thinks about this, you think about Young Master Mokuba. He grieved. You saw it, I saw it, everyone saw it. Oh, he carried it well, and he regained equilibrium, but that was grieving just the same."_

"I know."

"_But you...through whatever supercomputer that serves you for a mind, you did the work of God. You took that grief and you spit on it. You brought the dead straight out of the grave, and by doing that you just earned a blank check. It doesn't matter _what_ you do for the rest of your life; Mokuba will worship you for the rest of his."_

Seto's eyes narrowed.

"_...But if you take that away. If you tell him no, in this one thing...then I'll be shocked to the core if he _ever_ forgives you. You can't just take this one back, Master Kaiba. Not now. It's too late for that. You have to ride it out because there's no safety net anymore."_

"Roland, I wouldn't have _done_ this if I hadn't already considered that. I'm not talking about killing a man because he irritates me. If a choice comes down between watching Mokuba die, and watching him hate me...then he's going to hate me. The problem is that everything in me says that that will be a very real choice that I will have to make. Sooner, not later."

Roland was silent for a while.

Seto had a sudden, incomprehensible desire to destroy something.

"_You don't see it_,_"_ Roland said, _"because you don't trust him. But if you don't trust him, then try to trust me: he won't hurt Mokuba."_

The eldest Kaiba snorted derisively.

"_I'm serious,"_ Roland said. _"The day I suspect Noa of being capable of hurting Young Master Mokuba is the day I suspect _you_ of the same thing. In that, if nothing else, you are equals."_

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

When Tristan came back into the room, two green cans in hand, Noa was still standing near the door, watching it. Mokuba was watching Noa. Yami turned to glance at the brunette and winked. "You missed quite a performance," said he.

"Eh?" Tristan asked. "What happened?"

"Noa's a good Samaritan," Joey said thoughtfully. Noa didn't look over, but a smile rose on his lips again. "Just went Informercial on a customer, sold 'im somethin' he prob'ly didn't even want."

"He was happy, though," Téa said, smiling.

"Yeah," Joey said, and gave a dismissive little chuckle, but Tristan—and Yami—didn't look entirely convinced. Tristan had spent enough time around the blond to realize that Joey might not be the brainiest guy in the world, but his instincts were sharp. Something about the way he was grinning felt fake. And Yami...well, Yami didn't really trust _anybody, _except maybe Kaiba. And Yugi. That seemed about it. The spirit of the Millenium Puzzle probably didn't even trust himself.

Téa didn't seem to notice anything about Joey. Neither did Mokuba.

They just...seemed impressed. Happy. Convinced.

Noa was back, and Noa was a good guy now. And to be honest, he'd never given any indication to Tristan that he _wasn't. _He seemed okay enough. Innocuous enough. But Tristan trusted his friends, and if Joey wasn't sold, neither was he. He didn't take much stock in Yami's opinion because...well, yeah. He'd ask Yugi later.

"Oi," Tristan said, and tossed a soda to Mokuba. The black-haired boy didn't seem to hear him, and wasn't looking in his direction as the 12-ounce projectile sailed toward his face. "Hey! Think fast, kid!"

The young Kaiba flinched and turned, but didn't have enough time to get his hands up to catch his drink, or even to duck out of the way. He just stood there and braced for impact. Mokuba had told them all often enough that Kaiba didn't treat him like some porcelain doll that couldn't ever be touched or hurt or tarnished; Mokuba was a boy, just like any other boy, and he'd scraped his share of knees and bruised his share of elbows; just the same, he could already hear Kaiba when he came to pick the kid up:

_And the _point _to throwing it at my brother's face? You're too lazy to _hand it _to him, it would have taken _too long _to take four steps forward and let him take it himself? You couldn't tell he wasn't paying attention, that he didn't hear you? What was this? A lesson? You overstep yourself, Taylor. I don't need _you _teaching my brother anything._

Noa shot into movement so quickly that it looked like teleportation. One moment he was standing by the door, staring outside through the glass; the next he was at his little brother's side, and his arm shot out like oil-slick lightning and caught the soda a scant inch-and-a-half from Mokuba's nose.

The middle Kaiba popped the tab. "Here you go, kiddo," he said.

Mokuba stared up at him for a moment before giving a nervous little smile and taking the can. "...Thanks," he said in a soft, breathless little voice. "How did you...?"

Noa winked again. "Synthetic. Seto-sama mentioned that my muscle capacity is enhanced, compared to the average. My reflexes got the same treatment." He gave his trademark little grin to Tristan and said, "Good thing, huh? That could have been messy."

Was it a warning? It didn't look like it was supposed to be. It didn't _sound _like it was supposed to be. But all the same...hm. He wasn't sure, but one thing Tristan Taylor had learned about the Kaibas was that it was precisely _wrong _not to trust your gut.

He figured the same would have to be true of this Kaiba, too.

And he also figured that it would be a grave mistake to forget that.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Yugi had regained control of himself; apparently Yami had had enough entertainment for one afternoon. Noa and Mokuba were playing a tabletop war game; the latter looking happy, the former looking studious.

"Is it just me, or does Noa look like he's taking a chemistry test?" Joey asked, leaning against the wall and glancing at his friend. "I thought the point of games was to have fun. I know, I know, stupid me. I don't think I've ever seen a less fun expression on a human face before."

_Amusing, _came Yami's voice in Yugi's ears, _calling that a human face. _Yugi ignored that, choosing instead to look at the blond, who was clearly waiting for some kind of response. He said, "I'm pretty sure Noa is cut from the same cloth as Kaiba is. Games aren't about fun; they're about competition. Think about all the times you've seen Kaiba in the dueling arena. Has he _ever _looked like he's having fun?"

"...Point taken," Joey admitted. "But I ain't ever seen Kaiba duel his li'l brother. Just about every time I've ever seen Kaiba duel, it's been in a life-or-death situation. Kinda hard to have fun when somebody's tryna kill you." He frowned. "Then again...I pretty much made a living out of it when I was a kid."

None of them honestly understood what to make of the situation that confronted them. It was clear that Mokuba was perfectly at ease with the whole thing, but according to Yami, Mokuba was the only one about whom Noa seemed to honestly care; so maybe that wasn't much of a surprise. But the rest of them had to come to grips with the fact that Seto's technology was advanced enough to resurrect the dead. Frightening enough that he had attempted it; it was absolutely mortifying to think he'd succeeded.

But here he was: the ultimate blasphemy.

What should have been the most terrifying thing on the face of the earth was handsome, fair-haired and, if Mokuba's facial expression was any indication, clearly loved.

_Is it not said that Lucifer was the most beautiful of God's angels?_

Yugi grimaced. "You don't even believe in Lucifer."

"Eh?"

_Of course I do. He and I have much in common. I don't call him by that name, but that doesn't mean he doesn't exist. And anyway, Aibou, what difference does it make if Noa is an artificial man? Am I not much the same?_

Yugi wanted very much to say no. It felt like the right answer. But as he thought about it...he had to wonder: _was _Yami different from Noa Kaiba in any way that mattered? Wasn't Yami the same product, only constructed of magic rather than technology? Was magic intrinsically _better _than technology? Less offensive? Less..._wrong?_

"No...no, it isn't."

Joey raised an eyebrow. "Make a habit o' talkin' to yourself, there, Yug? Or's Yami doin' his thing?"

"That's it," Yugi said. "He's making me doubt myself again."

"Huh. Must be Tuesday."

Mokuba moved one of his pieces, looking triumphant. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, daring his adoptive sibling to get out of _that _one. Téa and Tristan had gone home already, professing that they had errands to run. Yugi suspected they'd simply needed to escape. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a soda. As he walked back into the main floor—his shift wasn't over; he couldn't leave even if he wanted to—he popped the tab and began to drink, if for no better reason than to _do _something.

He wondered if the pair of Kaibas even realized that they were little more than a zoo exhibit for the others in the room. Yugi couldn't think of a single thing to say to either of them right now, and he was sure that the same was true of Joey.

More customers came in, and Yugi was so relieved to have something to distract him that he probably scared them off for good. A couple, who recognized Mokuba from TV, stayed and watched the game for a while. Seeming to sense just how seriously Noa was taking the contest, they didn't speak. They simply watched. Mokuba shook their hands, smiled at them, waved, greeted them; Noa didn't seem to realize that they were even there. As far as he was concerned, Yugi guessed, other humans had no meaning.

And why should that be a surprise, either? He'd lived alone in his own private universe for so many years, it was only natural for him to attribute no importance to anyone else, right? They were all fake, after all. The world he'd ruled didn't look or act differently enough for him to have realized that the rules had changed. Yes. That made sense.

When Yugi turned the sign in front of the shop from OPEN to CLOSED, Noa and Mokuba were still playing. Neither had realized just how much time had passed. "Aren't these supposed to take a coupl'a days to finish?" Joey asked. Yugi nodded. "Looks like they're almost done. What time is it?"

"Half past eight," Yugi said. "Kaiba should be here soon."

"Whoo-hoo," came the less-than-enthusiastic reply.

"Be nice," Yugi admonished. "This whole 'Kaiba sucks' thing is getting old. Can't you find a new shtick? Besides, I'm pretty sure Noa doesn't have a driver's license. You knew he was going to come and pick them up. No sense complaining now."

"I'll complain as long as I damn well please," Joey muttered, looking mutinous. "'Sides, it's not like you don't agree with me half the damn time. Guy's got a laptop shoved sideways up his ass, no matter which way you wanna look at it."

Noa's eyes, roving over the game-board like a retinal scanner, suddenly locked on Joey's face with a kind of pristine ferocity. The blond stiffened, and suddenly his breath turned to molasses as he got a good look at the man's face. Yugi felt his body's temperature drop like he'd just bathed in liquid Nitrogen; the man had said his reflexes were sharper than natural. Why hadn't it crossed their minds that his _senses _had gotten the same treatment?

They had learned long ago that to insult Seto Kaiba where Mokuba could hear them was a bad idea. He may have been eleven, but he could lecture with the best of them, and Yugi had thought that his mother could learn a lesson or two from the young Kaiba about making people feel guilty. Apparently Noa was a new initiate to the faith, because he looked like a prized lieutenant whose Boss they'd just insulted. In short, murderous.

_Why not? _Yami asked, thoroughly enjoying himself. _True, Noa may have been an enemy, but that is all the more reason why he would be impressed and ingratiating now. Kaiba has given him the most precious gift any can give him: life. You saw how devoted he was to his father. Why should things be any different now? Compared to Gozaburo-sama, _this _Kaiba is a saint._

Mokuba had noticed the change in his brother's mood, and he looked around. "What's up, guys?" the boy asked, then seemed to fully realize that it was dark out. He blinked. "What…what _time _is it?" He fished a cellular phone out of one pocket of his jeans, flipped it open, and stared. "Ohmygod!" he cried, all in one breath. "It's almost nine!"

The device began to ring as the boy watched it, and he flinched.

Hitting a button and holding the phone to his ear, Mokuba said, "Hi, Niisama," in a sheepish little voice. From here, Yugi and Joey could hear Kaiba's voice as well. It was stern, quiet, but not particularly angry. "We…kinda lost track of time," Mokuba said, and he sounded more nervous now that he'd heard his brother speak. "No, we're still at the game shop. Noa was showing me how to play _Bent Chain. _I…no, Niisama. I finished it before we started playing. Yes, Niisama. Y-Yes, Niisama. I understand. Uh-huh. O-Okay, then. See you…soon. I'm sorry, Niisama. I…love you," he finished lamely.

Everyone in the room could _hear _Kaiba roll his eyes as a smile crept onto his face in direct spite of him. _"Love you, too, kid. I'll be there in a minute. Pack up."_

Mokuba flipped the thin machine shut and slipped it into a pocket, looking guiltier than ever. Considering that whatever reprimand Kaiba had leveled on him couldn't have been all that serious, the agonized expression on the boy's face was entirely out of place. Yugi thought he understood; Mokuba prided himself on living up to his brother's expectations, prided himself more than anything on making his Niisama proud. To disappoint him even the slightest bit was a betrayal.

Joey looked irate.

But Noa, once again, was looking studious, as grim and focused as though he were in court, and Yugi had a sneaking suspicion that the middle Kaiba brother could read more in the boy's expression than Yugi ever would.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Yami was a twitch away from taking over again by the time Seto Kaiba strode up to the shop, as Yugi unlocked the door to let him in. Kaiba stood just in the doorway, looking halfway between irritated and amused at the way his brother was scrambling to gather up his things. Noa proved much faster at packing up the game. His hands moved in a blur, his face completely blank of all expression as he worked. Yugi half-expected him to re-cover the box in shrink-wrap and set it back on the shelf. Instead, he handed it to Mokuba, who reached into a pocket and handed Yugi $30.

As Yugi grabbed the young Kaiba's change, he noticed a certain residual hostility between Kaiba and Joey. Even though they had known each other for several years, even though Mokuba had tried on numerous occasions to get them to reconcile, they still seemed hell-bent on hating each other with such a rabid intensity that _breathing _in front of each other was offensive.  
"'Sup, bitch?" the blond asked simply, putting on a thoroughly fake smile and winking at the eldest Kaiba brother.

"You delight in mediocrity, don't you?" Kaiba asked. "Is that honestly the best you can do?"

"When've you ever been worth my best?" the blond shot back.

It seemed like, as Kaiba had put on his patented scowl, Mokuba had borrowed his previous expression and was now halfway between telling them to knock it off and telling them to get a room. Yugi noted, however, that yet again Noa looked thoroughly, inexorably enthralled. His eyes were unnaturally bright as they shifted from one combatant to the other, seeming not so much to study their interaction so much as absorb it.

"I'd expect you to espouse such a method of conduct," Kaiba sneered, rolling his eyes. "Typical." He raised an eyebrow at Yugi. "Is there a particular reason you're staring at me, Mutou? Mokuba, your backpack is open; your binder is about to spill onto the floor." The black-haired boy blinked, checked his pack, and blushed.

Yugi cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the counter, handing Mokuba a $5 bill. He gestured to the Millennium Puzzle around his neck, looking sheepish. "Someone's back in town," he said, "and he's…excited to see you again."

To say that Kaiba looked merely disgusted would have been criminal. If there were words to describe the depth of the hatred in those cobalt eyes, Yugi didn't know them. They singed his skin. But from within him, he could feel that soaring exhiliration that had always been so intoxicating when Yami had taken over in the dueling arena. The ghost that dwelled inside the Labyrinth of Princes was beyond ecstatic right now. Yugi could feel laughter bubbling up in his throat, and he had to force himself to keep it down. Laughing at a Kaiba when he looked like that was tantamount to a death wish.

"You're sure you finished _everything _for tomorrow, Mokuba?" Kaiba asked, eventually deciding that saying anything to Yugi wouldn't be worth the trouble.

"Yes, Niisama," Mokuba answered.

_Aha, _came Yami's voice, and Yugi was compelled to search Kaiba's face for something he couldn't see. _Yes. That's it. I see. How unbelievably…perfect. Oh, mark me, Aibou, this is going to be glorious. Absolutely beautiful to behold. _Yugi looked at Mokuba now, even though he hadn't told his muscles to do anything, and the boy still looked crestfallen and guilty.

Now he looked at Noa, who wasn't looking at anybody anymore. His eyes were closed as he stood in the middle of the floor, and he looked like he was muttering something under his breath. Yugi couldn't hear, and neither could Yami. Mokuba had finished wrestling with his backpack and had it settled against his back. Noa didn't say a word as he walked out of the shop, and Yami very nearly _giggled. _Sometimes Yugi didn't understand in the slightest what fascinated him so thoroughly about these people, and suspected that _he _didn't, either. Nonetheless, he was practically bursting as Mokuba waved goodbye—and Kaiba didn't—and they both left after their adoptive sibling.

And just like that, the second-most-awkward day in Yugi Mutou's life seemed to be over.

He wondered if Yami intended to let him sleep.

Judging from the laughter ringing in his ears right now…he doubted it.

"Sometimes I wonder about that kid," Joey muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the counter. "Think he just likes assholes or something? I mean, first Kaiba, now Noa. He's on goddamn cloud _twelve _'cuz he lives with _two _pricks now? The hell's _wrong_ with him?"

"Well, if he _does _just have a penchant for assholes," Yugi said dryly, "it would explain pretty easily why he hangs out with _you."_

Joey let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "Oh, ha-ha. You so fah-nny. Anybody ever tell you, you _suck? _Seriously, Yug, what's up with that kid? He's, like, defective or something."

Yugi began cleaning up what little Noa hadn't bothered with, taking up the folding chairs and leaning them against the wall opposite the cash register behind the counter, saying, "They don't show their good sides around us because we don't matter to them. Besides, what's _Noa_ done to piss you off?"

Joey snorted. "Whaddaya think I am, a fuckin' idiot? That guy's faker 'n a six-dollar bill." He picked up the card table, lay it on its side and tucked in the legs. As he started rolling it out of the room, he added, "Gonna get himself hurt eventually. You know that, right? Don't serve you no good, clingin' to people like that 'n hopin' they'll come through for you." Once finished with the table, he stepped out and started climbing the stairs toward the residential section of the building. Yugi followed him, face unreadable. "They'll drop the ball eventually, and it'll bleed like fuckin' hell."

Yugi found a half-amused, half-pained smile. "That's part of the problem. I bet he knows already. I bet he knows, and can't bring himself to care. He can't admit to himself they might hurt him, because that would mean giving them up. And he…can't do that. They're all the guidance he's got. Without them…what _is _he?"

The mirth had vanished from the spirit in Yugi Mutou's mind.

Now he was brooding.

He mused: _You both sound as though you speak from experience._

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

It was nearing 11 that night when Noa slipped into Mokuba's room to find his young brother sitting asleep at his desk, head cradled on his folded arms over a pile of worksheets and binder paper. A half-gone pencil was clutched in one hand as the black-haired boy mumbled incoherently in his sleep. Noa found a tiny smile as he stood just past the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

When Noa had first taken the _Bent Chain _box off the shelf at Yugi's shop, suggesting that he and Mokuba start a game, the youngest Kaiba had been apprehensive. "I have…I have to…oh, okay. Let's do it." And he'd grinned his trademark Mokuba grin, and they'd played. For a first-time player, Mokuba had been entirely too good. After a while, he'd really gotten into it, and time ceased to have any meaning.

"I'll set my third unit here, and General Ika will come in down the middle."

"Fourth infantry hits here."

"Dragon-rider on the left up here."

"Illiad up the diagonal."

And so on. The game, meant to be played in rounds over two or three days, was done before they realized any time had passed at all. It was dark out; after 8 o' clock. And now Noa realized that he'd made a mistake. Mokuba had intended to do his homework at the shop that day. But he'd gotten caught up in the game that Noa had pushed him into playing; he'd lied to Seto.

He hadn't finished, not by a long shot. An English handout and half a Math worksheet lay under his arms. Two textbooks lay open in front of him, and a calculator was perched on the edge of his desk. Noa stood with his hands in his pockets, unable to hide a smile in spite of the situation. He knew this wasn't a good thing. Mutou and his minions thought he was a sociopath, and he knew it, but the truth of the matter was that he'd simply learned how to prioritize.

Mokuba was important. They were not. That was the end of it for him.

He picked up one of the other sheets of paper on the boy's desk and scanned it. His eyes traced his brother's handwriting. It was impossible to describe, even for Noa himself, how he managed to analyze Mokuba's writing style, his thought process, his _creative _process…but it was all here. He read it all. He saw it all. It was impossible to describe what he could see, what he knew, but he knew it. Oh, yes. He knew it.

A part of him knew that neither of his siblings would truly appreciate this next gesture, but most of him knew that it didn't matter. Not now. It would have mattered two hours ago, when Mokuba was still conscious. It would have mattered seven hours ago, when Noa had suggested they play a game and didn't bother to ask if Mokuba had anything to do before they started because this game took a long time to finish.

Now, there was nothing but the task that needed doing.

Noa slipped the unfinished work from beneath his brother's arms, the small pile pushed off to the side, the textbooks, and headed out of the room. Mokuba didn't stir. Noa slipped back into the bedroom he had claimed as his own, which was still bare save for a spare bed that had been moved into it on the first day. He sat down, and set to work.

As he wrote—in his brother's hand, with his brother's voice—Noa thought about what he had seen that day. Not of Mokuba or his friends, but of Seto. The eternal enigma that was the man who could have passed for his twin. In the week or so since he had lived at the Kaiba Estate since his rebirth, he had made attempts to determine just how best to gain his elder's trust. He knew that it wouldn't be easy, knew that it would take time and commitment and that it would be nearly impossible to do. But nonetheless, he knew that he had to do it.

He, Seto, and Gozaburo were all of a mind in that regard: there was only the mission. There was only the task. Not the difficulty, not the complexity, not the hardship, not the sacrifice. He needed to do it. It would be done. Mokuba wanted his brothers to get along. Mokuba wanted a family. He would have one. That was the end of it. But thus far, he had had almost no luck in even getting the man's attention. Seto was bound and determined to ignore Noa's very existence, and didn't Noa know what _that _felt like? He had been wondering what he could do to…get his foot in the door.

"…What is one reason for Twain's use of potentially offensive language throughout the course of the…"

He'd tried everything he could think to do. He had tried groveling, he had tried apathy; he had tried apathy more than once. He'd tried being confrontational, he'd tried being sheepish. He'd tried being friendly, he'd tried being outright hostile. None of it worked. Seto only acknowledged him as far as it took to ensure that he avoided his former adversary whenever conceivable.

Mokuba had noticed it, and he surely didn't like it.

But evidently Seto had decided that he'd done enough.

And really…_hadn't _he?

It came down to Noa.

He'd tried to emulate Mokuba's behavior, seeing as how Mokuba seemed to be the only person who ever truly _commanded _Seto's attention, but that hadn't worked any better than anything else, and worse than some of it.

He'd only made the mistake of calling him "Niisama" the one time.

A shudder ran through him as he thought of that particular afternoon, alongside a wave of superstitious fear that felt entirely foreign to him. Did he _fear _Seto Kaiba? _Should _he fear Seto Kaiba? He didn't know. But what he did know was this: Yugi Mutou and Joey Wheeler had caught his elder adoptive brother's attention where none of Noa's attempts had done a thing. They hadn't even done anything; it had simply _happened. _Without a word, Joey had earned Seto's ire. Without a single action, Yugi had earned Seto's acknowledgment.

Noa wondered why.

And how.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**I feel like I know who Noa is. Not as well as I probably need to know him, considering I'm working with him like this. But that's part of the process. I think the most important thing to take from this project is that Noa is trying to figure out who he is, too.**_

_** He thinks he knows. He thinks he understands. I, personally, disagree.**_

_** I think he's lost and, like any number of arrogant men, refuses to ask for directions. He's fixated on figuring out the way home on his own. Because that's how he was taught to behave.**_


	10. The Scorpions of Isis

_**It has been mentioned before that I want to teach. Chapters like the one following this note are part of the reason why. Over the numerous years I've spent as a student, I've seen any number of teaching styles. As it became clearer and clearer to me that I wanted to join them, I began to theorize what my personal teaching style would be. I've experimented, having been both a volunteer and freelance tutor at various points in my life, and that is the primary theme and exploration of this chapter.**_

_**TL;DR: School is in session.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"I am Isis," she declared, in a voice that commanded absolute attention. She had stepped into the room mere moments before—a young man with bleach-blond hair and a tanned, handsome face at her side—and already the students seated before her were enthralled. Considering the fact that the name written on the blackboard behind her read, quite clearly: "Dr. Isis Ishtar, Ph.D," it should have been a ludicrous statement. It should have caused laughter, or at least confusion.

But it did not.

It simply caught them.

"I am Mistress of Magic, and Speaker of Spells," said Doctor Isis Ishtar, Ph.D. "I came out of the House of Set. Thoth advised me to hide myself in the Marshlands of Lower Egypt, with my small son Horus."

The young man stepped forward, beginning to weave through the desks and looking at each student in turn. There were twenty in all, and forty eyes were eyeing him; thirty-eight in innocent curiosity, two in apprehensive suspicion. He spoke clearly, concisely, his lavender eyes twinkling. "I ask you, do you think that Isis, Mistress of Magic," here he gestured at their instructor, "would travel through the land of Egypt unattended? This woman, this goddess, the Daughter of Geb, She of the Throne?"

They all shook their heads, caught in the story like small children 'round a campfire, and it was clear that the tan man with bleach-blond hair was drinking it in like fine wine. He said, laughter in his voice: "No! No, of course she would not! Isis and her son were accompanied by seven scorpions. They guarded her wherever she went."

The doctor spoke: "Tefen and Befen were behind me. Mestet and Mestetef were on either side of me. And in front of me to open the way, Petet, Thetet, and Matet."

"Go always ahead!" the tan man cried out, in such a loud and authoritative voice that those nearest him jumped in their seats. He strode forward, back to Isis Ishtar. "Do not look to the right," he gestured right, "or to the left," he gestured left, "and _do not _attack children or any poor defenseless people or animals!"

There was an unmistakable, inexorable resemblance to the pair. Though Isis held herself with poise and nobility, next to the young man she looked like a teenager. And although the man was clearly young, there was an aged, lined look in his face that was somehow intangible. He was taller than she, and he slinked along like a natural predator as he spoke, while Isis stood as stolid as a limestone statue.

"They led me, my seven scorpions, to the city of _Per Swi," _Isis said, sweeping her regal ice-blue gaze across the room. "The Papyrus Marshes begin there, the city of the Two Goddesses of the Divine Sandals." Snickers rumbled across the students, but Isis said this last title with a face untouched by emotion of any kind. The young man glared suspiciously at them. "Here I would have liked to rest."

"She had travelled a long way," the man said, leaning forward on one desk as if daring the young woman sitting there to laugh again. "She was way-worn. She was _weary. _She had her young son Horus with her." He loped over to the other side of the room. "What do you think Isis did, in this city of Two Goddesses? In this city of the Divine Sandals? What would you do, weary and travel-worn, on reaching the boundaries of a great city like this?" He swept his hands out as if indicating some great, stunning urban landscape. The students looked around as though they might actually see something.

Except one.

"Well…" said the older, salt-and-pepper-haired man that the speaker had indicated, "I suppose…I would try to find somewhere to rest?"

The tan man with bleach-blond hair crossed his arms and nodded. _"Yes_. Yes, you would. It's only logical. But you would not be guarded by seven scorpions, seven of the most dangerous creatures in the land of Egypt. Not as Isis, Mistress of Magic, and her small son Horus, were guarded."

"At the first house where I stopped," Isis said softly, "there was a woman whose name was Gloria. I asked her if I might rest in her house, for I was weary."

"But," the tan man said, looking and sounding offended, "Gloria was frightened of the scorpions. So frightened that she shut the door to her home in my mistress's face. This…greatly annoyed the scorpions, who believed that Isis, She who Knows the Orphan, should rest where she wished. And she wished to rest there, in Gloria's house, whose door was now shut to her."

"I went on further into the city," Isis said, gently as if to placate her companion. "I found a house further into the city, belonging to one of the marsh-women who consented to receive me. I rested, and my small son Horus rested. But my guards did not rest."

"The seven scorpions consulted together," said the tan man, "and they decided to take action. Oh, yes. They would take action. They would have…retribution." He slithered along the front row. "They came, and they put all of their poison onto the sting of Tefen. The power of Tefen's poison, now sevenfold, was fit to return to the first house, where Gloria lived." He looked positively devious, with an evil grin rising on his thin lips, lavender eyes narrowed to slits.

"Gloria had a son," Isis said, sounding remorseful now, "an infant son. The children of Egypt, most prized, most delicate. They forgot my order, they all forgot my order. Petet, Thetet, Matet, and Mestet and Mestetef, and Befen. And Tefen, vengeful Tefen. Do not attack children."

"In the flames of vengeance, orders have no meaning." The tan man was still sneaking, still crouched, still devious. "And the door to Gloria's house, this door was ill-fit. And Tefen crawled in." The tan man crouched low and mimed the action of the scorpion. "He slipped through the house, one with shadow, one with earth, and did they see him? Did Gloria see him, did her husband see him? Did her son…see him?"

He launched himself up, and landed with a _crash _onto one of the desks, feet spread wide and arms held out like the pincers of the creature he seemed to have become. "He strikes! Swift and fast, deadly and final, Gloria's son fell gravely ill." He rose to his full height, arms raised now as though calling forth divine intervention. "And _fire, _glorious fire, broke out in the house, licked at the walls and cried at the air, for its work was done! Tefen's work was done! Retribution!"

He dropped down with the grace of a gymnast, and the man seated in the desk was still leaning back, looking flabbergasted. Isis stepped slowly forward, and put a hand on her compatriot's shoulder. "Gloria rushed 'round the town, asking for help. She received…none. I…Isis…repented what had been done. And I called the woman to me."

"She went with Gloria to what remained of her house, and laid hands on the child."

"Because I am Isis, Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells."

"She called on the poison to leave the child."

"O poison of Tefen, enter not into him, come fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Befen, come forth and fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Mestet, go no further, come forth and fall upon the ground."

"O poison of Mestetef, go no further, come forth and fall upon the ground! In the name of Isis, Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells!"

"O poison of Petet, proceed no further, come forth and fall upon the ground!"

_"Poison of Thetet and Matet, rise not! Do not enter into him but come forth! The child shall live, the poison shall die!"_

"…Because my father Geb has given me control…over all reptiles." Isis lowered her head. "As truly as Horus lives for his mother, so this child will live for his mother."

The tan man seemed half in a trance.

He said, "Then the fire in the house was extinguished. And the child…he was cured. And to this day, people who are stung by scorpions, like these scorpions, have a poultice made of barley bread placed on the wound. This draws out the poison. In the name of Isis…Mistress of Magic and Speaker of Spells."

And he, too, lowered his head.

The class began to cheer. Thirty-eight hands clapped together in the utmost appreciation.

Two did not. Two remained crossed over one another on the desk of their owner, still and silent as the grave.

Two eyes still watched in apprehensive suspicion.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

"What is significant about the role the scorpions play in this myth?" the doctor asked, now in a normal tone of voice that still commanded attention and respect. She checked the roster on her desk and pointed. "Yes, Miss Longworth?"

"They represent the danger of wild animals, and nature. They're symbolic of the struggle the Egyptians fought against the desert where they lived."

The tan man with bleach-blond hair—she introduced him as her T.A., Malik—pointed to another. "Yes?" he asked, and his normal speaking voice had a thicker accent than what they had heard when he had been performing. His lavender eyes were bright, almost feverish. His fingers kept tapping on his legs as they rested at his sides, and it was rather clear that he was nervous.

"There's a kind of duality, here. Isis represents mercy and forgiveness. The scorpions guarding her represent anger and…" the speaker found a smile, "…retribution." Malik, for his part, chuckled and nodded, looking satisfied. He glanced at the doctor, who had crossed her arms and was surveying the students.

She stopped at one corner of the room. "Mister Kaiba?" she prompted, and a small black-haired boy, far younger than any of the others, looked at her from the far end of the front row. He looked distracted, and his eyes kept flickering over to Malik, who in turn seemed to be doing his level best to keep his gaze anywhere _but _the boy. "Anything to say?" Isis asked.

"…They're proof that even gods can't control people," the boy said in a small voice that seemed older than his years. He straightened and adjusted his shoulders, nervously licking his lips. "The scorpions were Isis's servants, but they didn't follow her orders. They took it on themselves to punish Gloria. I'm surprised Isis let them live."

One thin black eyebrow raised over an ice-blue eye. "Do tell, Mister Kaiba." There was a certain amount of familiarity in Isis Ishtar's voice and face when she spoke to the boy, and a few of the other students murmured amongst each other. He was Mokuba Kaiba, heir and vice-president for the Kaiba Corporation. It was no wonder he had been permitted to attend, in spite of his youth.

Composed and calm, the young Kaiba elaborated: "Isis is a mother. She had a son of her own. Her own servants attacked an infant to punish his mother. Why would she let that happen? Why wouldn't she punish them? Not only for ignoring her orders, but for poisoning somebody who wasn't even involved in anything?"

There was something about the boy's voice, and the particular way that he looked at Isis Ishtar, that told the other people in the room that there was more to this discussion than scorpions and goddesses. The doctor, for her part, was completely unabashed by the thoroughly accusatory tone in Mokuba's voice. She said, "The myth is meant to explain why certain spells were used to cure scorpion venom. The story rose from the need for that explanation."

"Wouldn't it have proven a point for her to punish the scorpions? To show that the gods shouldn't be defied?" Mokuba asked.

"A further point was proven when they were forgiven," said Malik, with a certain edge to his own voice. "A loyal servant may act rashly in the name of his master. Vengeance is the realm of mortals. Forgiveness is the prerogative of the gods."

A woman raised her hand. "Are we sure that she _didn't _punish them? The story ends before that's really covered. Do we know any more, Doctor Ishtar?"

Isis shook her head. "The translation is partial, so we do not have all the details of the story. However…"

And so it went. The discussion continued. Mokuba Kaiba did not speak voluntarily, but the doctor continued to call on him to engage him in the conversation. He always had something to say, often more thought-out than his classmates who, to a man (and woman), were at the very least twice his age. But all through the discussion of Isis and her scorpions, his grey-violet eyes never left Malik. And Malik's lavender eyes never _met _Mokuba's.

For those who paid attention to it, the atmosphere in the room was stifling, and when the hour was over and the homework assigned for the next day's class, they were all too happy to leave. Mokuba was still sitting at his desk when the last of them had gone. He looked straight at Isis with an expression that would have been right at home on either of his brothers, and he said, icy and reproachful, "You didn't tell me he would be here."

Malik seemed perfectly willing to fade into the background. He leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling, pretending—as Mokuba clearly was—that he wasn't in the room. Isis sent a look her brother's way, then back at Mokuba. She said, "The appointment of my own assistant is my decision, Mister Kaiba," she said. "I do not recall there being a prerequisite to employing him that involved asking your permission."

Mokuba's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk to me like that," he snapped. _"You _gave my brother that card. _You _got him to start that stupid tournament. You almost drove him crazy, and _you," _he leveled a true Kaiba's glare on Malik, "almost _killed _him!" He shot to his feet and snatched up his backpack. "So yeah…it would have been niceto have a warning. You didn't know what Malik was planning to do with those God cards, but you called my brother in to stop him and he said okay. So I wasn't going to say anything." He shoved past Malik and threw open the door. "But…I guess all is forgiven. Great for you guys. Have fun teaching together."

A resounding _slam _announced the boy's departure.

Isis stared at the floor.

Malik continued to stare at the ceiling.

Neither said a word.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"Where're you from?"

Kay Mayer wasn't the sort of person Katie McKinley was used to interacting with; in fact, she was almost the complete opposite. She was quiet, cultured; she took time to compose a response to any question, no matter how mundane. It was like she thought people were watching—and more importantly, analyzing—every movement she made, every word she spoke.

She was dressed today in faded blue jeans and a white turtleneck sweater. Simple, unadorned, yet somehow…regal. Her alabaster hair seemed all the brighter and more exotic for it. She had an exotic sort of face, too, and Katie couldn't help but think of her as some sort of foreign dignitary; in another age, she might have looked like royalty. Picturing the young woman with a jeweled crown, Katie found that looked entirely too natural.

"Most of my family lives in Canada," Kay said in her soft voice, "but my parents are from Rhode Island."

Renie, always a font of knowledge Katie never would have believed of her by looking at her, suddenly gasped. "No _way. _You wouldn't be related to Sullivan Mayer, would you?"

"Who?" Katie asked, her face blank.

Kay nodded. "My father."

"Good God, Kate!" Renie cried, punching her friend in the arm. "Sully Mayer is the frickin' _governor! _We're sittin' with a bigwig here, babe." She laughed, clearly not bothered in the slightest by this. "Small world, that's _awesome._ So what're you doin' all the way out here?"

Kay shrugged. "I decided that if I were going to embrace the…college experience, I should do it properly. I did my research, and Brent Fueler has one of the most celebrated teaching programs in the country. Not to mention, it's as far from my parents as I could get without _leaving _the country." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled.

Katie laughed. "Well played! I approve."

"You're aiming to teach?" Renie asked.

Kay nodded. "I've always thought teaching was a noble, unsung calling. Not enough people think about what kind of work it takes to do it. Those who can't do, teach. Well, I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. It takes more than shattered dreams and a big desk to make an impact." She looked embarrassed. "Not that I'm…bitter or anything."

"Here, here," Katie said, raising her soda as if in a toast. "Follow the dream, Sister."

"'Take your life and force it to obey you,'" Renie recited. "'It's the only honest possession that any of us truly own, and it is the sole prerogative of each of us to realize it. When we allow our families, and friends, and enemies, to dictate the course of our lives, it is the most vile form of treachery. Your life is your responsibility. Do not fail it.'"

Kay blinked. "Excuse me?"

"One of his more famous speeches," Renie said proudly. "At his high school graduation."

"His?" Kay asked.

"Seto Kaiba," Katie said, looking exasperated and amused. "She never tires of showing off about him. Get used to it. Eventually it just washes over you. But she has a point, I think. Sounds like you've got things well in hand. Godspeed, soldier." She saluted.

"This…Kaiba person," Kay said, frowning. "Is he a local celebrity?"

"If you call the youngest billionaire in history a _local _celebrity, yes," Renie said. "The man's a legend. Had a high school diploma at twelve, graduated college by fifteen, took over the Kaiba Corporation and turned it into a freaking _giant. _Child prodigy, inventor, scientist, CEO, _total hottie, _whatever you want to call him."

Kay looked impressed, although still more than a little confused. "And you…know him personally?"

"My dad does," Katie said. "They met a couple years ago. The planets were apparently aligned just right, because they hit it off pretty well. Renie and I started up the website a few months later."

"Is your father in big business, too?" Kay asked.

"Nope," said Katie. "Beat cop to the core, stuffed behind a detective's desk against his will. He was working security at an event Mister Kaiba was holding."

"Oh…I see."

Renie was digging through her bag. With a cry of triumph, she pulled out a magazine. Handing it across the table to Kay, she said, "There he is. Right there on the cover of _Time, _'cuz he's just a badass that-a-way."

Kay took the magazine. Her mouth parted, and her eyes widened a bit. "…I _have _seen this man before…yes." She looked up. "Who's the little boy with him?" She pointed, and now a smile was playing on her lips.

"Future heartbreaker, ain't he?" Renie asked, winking. "I'm impressed, Kay. Most people see him for the first time, they think he's a girl. That's Mokuba. Kaiba-Corp's vice-president. He's Seto's younger brother."

Kay stared at the magazine again. "Vice-president? He can't be older than ten years old!"

"Eleven," Katie corrected. "And yeah, we know. Still, look him up. Plenty of his appearances are online. That kid works a crowd better than anybody I've ever seen. Except maybe his brother. Still, it's a close race." She looked at Renie. "Remember last year at PAX? He came out dressed like Ed Elric to announce KC'd teamed up with Square Enix?"

Renie laughed. "Oh, yeah! I remember that! And they got Seto to wear the military uniform! I still have that picture up on my wall!" She tossed her head back and stared wistfully up at the ceiling. "That was the dorkiest, most adorable thing I've ever seen."

Kay set the magazine onto the table, looking thoughtful.

"…Huh," she said.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"He told me what happened."

Noa raised an eyebrow, pretending to be innocently curious. "Who told you, and what happened?" he asked idly, leaning low in a high-backed chair and propping up his feet on a nearby end table. He'd furnished his room; aside from the chair and the table, he had acquired a bookshelf, a writing desk, and a laptop computer, which was currently charging on the floor. The money he had used to buy these items had been transferred into a bank account created in Noa's name, and the middle Kaiba hadn't needed to ask from where the funds had come; Seto would not have bothered. Mokuba had done it.

Noa was dressed in glowing white slacks, a soft aqua-green button-down shirt, and shining white shoes. A similarly pristine white jacket was slung over the back of the chair. He did not wear a tie. Seto had grimaced slightly upon seeing his adoptive sibling's posture, but had said nothing about it. In fact, this was the first time he'd spoken to Noa since the previous morning.

"Mokuba," said Seto, leaning against the doorframe, "told me that he did _not, _in fact, finish his homework on Thursday. Apparently, he was caught up in a game, and lost track of time. He attempted to finish the work that night, but it turns out that fatigue got the better of him, and he was unable to complete it."

The look on Noa's face was one of complete calm, but his mind was whirling. He lowered his legs, set his feet flat on the floor, and leaned forward. His thin hands dangled between his knees. "I'm not sure why you're telling _me _this," he said, even though he did.

Seto lifted two sheets of paper, one in each hand. "This," he said, lifting the sheet to Noa's left, "is a handout for his Language Arts class which he procured and turned in late." He lifted the sheet to Noa's right. "This is the original handout which he found, miraculously completed, yesterday morning. He did _not _turn this in."

"How odd," Noa murmured thoughtfully.

Seto's face twitched. He handed the two sheets to Noa. "Do you see anything odd about these two handouts, Noa?"

The middle Kaiba glanced at them. "Not particularly," he said, and he didn't. The essays were similar in tone and even in theory; though he did notice a certain divergence in the specifics. He studied them, but not as deeply as he would have liked before Seto took the handouts back. Noa looked up at his adoptive elder and crossed one leg over the other. "Why do you ask?"

"Do you think me an idiot?" Seto asked, clearly agitated now.

"Not at all," Noa said, finding a grin. "I'm just wondering how long it will take you to ask me the question you _actually _want to ask me. Shall we go another round? My interview with Aarden-sama isn't until Monday. I have time."

A beat of suffocating, tense silence.

"You're more devious than you've led me to believe," Seto said slowly. "Not to mention studious." He lifted the fake assignment. "Why would you do this? Did you think he would turn this in? Did you think he would keep to a lie?"

Noa shrugged. "No. I simply wished to give him the option. He neglected his work for my sake; I neglected my integrity for his. It seemed a fair trade." Seto's scowl deepened, and he seemed to be searching Noa's face. "If he refused to take the path I offered him, then he truly is a Kaiba." Still grinning, the sandy-haired, white-clad young man stood, slipped his hands into his pockets and bowed. "Shortcuts exist for the weak." He lifted his sky-blue gaze to Seto's, still bent at the waist. "You've raised him well, Aniki. My father would be proud."

Noa strode out of the room, not waiting for a response.

Seto stared after him, eyes wide and more than a little confused, his lips parted just the slightest bit, as he mouthed the word "Aniki" and his mind—nearly as machine-like as his sibling's—struggled to determine whether he should be insulted or not.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**The story told in the first verse of this chapter is adapted from the Egyptian myth, "The Scorpions of Isis," as told by M.V. Seton-Williams in the 1999 version of his book, "Egyptian Legends and Stories." **_

_**Kay Mayer returns in this chapter, and a bit more about her backstory is revealed. There will be a payoff later, and I promise that she is relevant to the plot. For now, just play nice and make her feel welcome, okay? That'd be great. Ed Elric, mentioned in that scene, is the titular character in the anime "Fullmetal Alchemist," a personal favorite of mine and published by Square Enix, a Japanese gaming juggernaut. I have mentioned Fullmetal in other works; I am of the opinion that Mokuba would be a fan. Anyone who's seen the anime or read the manga should understand why. Does this scene count as breaking the fourth wall?**_

_**Those of you who came to this story from its ill-fated predecessor, "Shifting Images," will recognize Noa's use of the term "Aniki." This may be a new version of the character, new and improved if you will, but certain aspects of his personality and his personal history will be retained from the old version. He's not going to be a completely different person this time around; I'm just taking the time and effort to ensure that the personality I crafted last time makes logical sense.**_

_**Until next time, I hope you all enjoyed this installment, and that you'll stick around to see where it leads. It should be fun.**_


	11. More Direct Means

_**This chapter marks the end of Book One. While there's still some setup to be done before everything can be fully set into motion, these 11 sections have set up the basis on which the rest of this story will be built.**_

_** Whether you came to this story after "Shifting Images" was discontinued, or are reading without reservation, I appreciate the encouragement I've received so far on this project. It's an important one.**_

_** Let's kick off the new year with a bang, shall we?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

Seto Kaiba's face when Mokuba stepped into the front parlor was serene. Noa's was almost amused. The boy looked at his brothers, expecting them to ask him how his first day in a college class had gone, but they simply glanced at each other—for once they seemed in agreement about something—and then back at him. Mokuba suddenly felt nervous.

"…Um…hi?"

"I received a phone call from Isis Ishtar," said Seto, slowly, calmly, and ice water ran down Mokuba's back. "Westridge Community College has refunded your tuition fee, as the administration is apparently of the opinion that you have dropped her class."

Mokuba grimaced. He wasn't sure why he hadn't expected this. "Oh…yeah. Well…"

"I called," Seto continued, "and bade this decision be rescinded. I said that there must have been a mismanagement of communication. There is no other reason for such a conclusion to have been made." Mokuba saw anger slowly, so slowly, rising in his brother's face. "I stated that my brother would not have dropped any class after a single meeting."

"Niisama…I can't—"

Seto held up a hand, eyes flashing dangerously, and Mokuba nearly bit off his tongue. "I'm not interested in hearing what you _can't _do," the eldest Kaiba snapped, in a sharper voice than the youngest could remember hearing in years. "I want to know what you've _done. _Have you dropped this class? Have you given up already?" His cobalt eyes were wide and searching, and Mokuba understood that an answer was not only expected of him, but required. Soon.

He drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and looked his brother in the eye. "…Yes, Niisama. I have."

The fire dimmed, but it did not fade. "I will know why," he said. Seto looked ten feet tall in that moment, arms flat at his sides, stance easy, face a mask of neutrality. It was worse than if he'd shouted. Mokuba knew better than anyone that when Seto Kaiba was so angry that he was liable to lose control of himself, he hid his emotions behind a wall. Refused to let them hold dominion.

He looked calm, but he was livid.

Mokuba had to struggle to keep calm, to stay composed. He knew that if he lost it here, it would only make the situation worse. He kept his eyes trained directly on Seto's only with the greatest of effort. He said, in a shaking voice, "…I'm not…going to take lessons from Malik Ishtar. Not after what he did."

"That is your reason."

"Yes, Niisama."

"Do you fear for your safety?"

"…Not really."

He realized instantly that this was not the right answer by the way Seto drew in a deep, steadying breath. "For whom do you feel so insulted that you refuse to stay in Malik Ishtar's presence: your friends, me, or yourself?"

Mokuba already knew that he was going to give the wrong answer again. But he knew that it was better to be honest and wrong, than lie. Again. He said, "…You, Niisama. You almost died because of him."

Seto closed his eyes and sighed. The ghost of a grimace passed Noa's face. Mokuba realized with a jolt that _both _of his brothers were less than pleased by this answer. Noa was better at hiding his displeasure, but Mokuba thought that was only because Seto wasn't trying to hide anything anymore. Seto's cobalt eyes had been the center of Mokuba's existence since his birth eleven years ago; when they opened again, they held anger, sorrow, bitterness, and worst of all…disappointment. Seto said, almost gently, "…The man standing beside me came much closer to killing me than Malik Ishtar ever did, and yet you have found it in your heart to forgive _him._ Am I given to understand that you will allow such an insult to pass for your own brother, but not another's?"

It was all the black-haired boy could do to keep from bolting from the room. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from crying, Mokuba said, "…I forgive people I trust. I trust Noa. I don't trust Malik Ishtar."

Noa's eyebrows raised, and he looked impressed in spite of himself.

Seto's face was chiseled from ancient stone. He shook his head. "I did not raise you to be a hypocrite," he said, scathingly. He turned on his heel and made to leave the room. Noa put a hand on his shoulder.

"Aniki."

Seto flinched violently, pulled away from Noa's touch and turned back to look at Mokuba, who felt his insides shrivel up inside him as the man he'd idolized since he could remember knowing what the word meant—the man who had raised him, protected him, taught him, the man to whom he owed everything that he was and ever would be—spoke five words that sliced through him like a hot knife and nearly drove him to his knees:

"I expected better of you."

Seto swept out of the room.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Isis could not deny that she was surprised to see the younger Kaiba brother slink into her classroom on Sunday morning. If she was surprised, however, then Malik was mortified. The boy's words had affected him far more than he would ever admit. This was especially true since, when he had mentioned Mokuba's outburst to Rishid that evening, the eldest Ishtar had seemed not only _not _upset by it, but impressed.

Rishid had said, in his soft and scratchy voice, "He has every right to detest all three of us. I am surprised we have not been driven out of Domino City by now. We do not deserve forgiveness; not from the Kaibas, nor from anyone else we have wronged. I am sorry, Brother, I truly am. But we must first accept our sins before we can ever hope to atone for them." He had always been wiser than their parents had ever given him credit for being, and Isis knew that her elder brother was right. She could not deny her part in the danger Seto and his brother had undergone at Malik's hands, any more than she could deny her part in Malik's descent into madness.

The discussion in class that day was more subdued than the previous day's, but Isis was pleased and relieved when Mokuba raised his hand to speak more than once. He was no less studious than he'd been before, and had been first to turn in his homework when he'd arrived, with a quickly murmured apology for any inconvenience he must have caused.

When Isis had called Seto Kaiba to inform him that his brother had dropped her class, he had told her, _"No, he has not. I will rectify this issue. Expect him in class tomorrow morning. He will be there." _Isis could not recall a time when anything Seto Kaiba had said in that particularly decisive tone had ever proved in error. True to his word, Mokuba was here.

"Isn't Set's role as a villain in some myths," Mokuba asked at one point during the hour, "part of where the myths came from? Wasn't he worshipped, just like any god, in some cities? He's only a villain in stories that came from cities devoted to Horus, isn't he?"

"Set was indeed held in reverence in certain circles," Isis said, nodding.

"It is important to understand that the concept so popular in modern religions, that of a 'good' force and an 'evil' force," Malik put in, "isn't present in Egypt as cleanly as we might want. There are any number of creation myths, depending on the region, and the same is true when it comes to the concepts of good and evil. This is a common thread in many polytheistic religions. Discord is just as potent and important a force as order. While it is often _considered _a sign of evil, we would all do well to understand that it is not an end-all symbol."

The doctor had to give her younger brother credit. Malik was a gifted speaker, and he held the attention of the class just as well as she did. Even today, when he was clearly flustered and "off his game," he held himself well. Then again, Isis thought, he had held a black market empire together under his control for a number of years when he'd been a teenager. It should have been no surprise.

By the time the hour was over, and Isis had assigned reading for the next week, the tension from the previous day was nowhere to be felt. The class was smiling and talking, shaking Isis's hand, shaking Malik's hand, saying that they looked forward to the next weekend's meetings. Isis hadn't been sure if Malik's suggestion of lecturing in what was effectively improvisational theater would work, but it seemed to have gone over just fine. She found herself in a decidedly pleasant mood. This was going to work. She could feel it.

Mokuba was last in the room again. He was still seated, hands clasped on his desk, head low, eyes on the floor. He seemed deep in thought. Isis gathered her things together, and Malik seemed perfectly content to sit atop Elliot Miller's desk, pointedly _not _watching the black-haired boy. "Do you work today?" Isis asked him conversationally. Her brother glanced at her, eyebrows raised.

"I close tonight," he said. "I'm going in at 5. Need help with anything?"

Isis shook her head. "Not at all. Well done, Malik. I think you made an impression."

Malik grinned like a child praised by his mother.

Mokuba stood up from his desk, settled his pack on his shoulders, and stepped toward them. Standing in front of Isis, he inclined his head, clenched his fists at his sides, and said, "…I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday. I had no right to talk to you like that." He glanced spasmodically at Malik. "Either of you. I'm sure…I'm sure you've had enough stress and drama from Battle City already. I shouldn't be adding to it. I…I hope you can forgive me."

And he bowed.

All was silent for a long moment. Isis glanced at her brother, whose expression was blank. She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he nodded. She stepped over to the Kaiba heir and put a hand on his shoulder. The black-haired boy flinched, and looked up. Isis smiled. "We must admit our sins before we can atone for them," she said. "A very wise man said that to me once. Our family has wronged yours, and we must accept that. If it will ease your conscience to have us forgive your anger, then it is forgiven. In exchange, will it be possible that you can someday forgive our actions, and our arrogance, as well?"

Mokuba looked at Isis for a long while, then at Malik for even longer.

"…Yes."

Isis's smile widened, and Malik hung his head.

"We'll see you next Saturday, then?" Isis asked.

Mokuba found a smile of his own and nodded. "Yes, Doctor Ishtar."

They heard footsteps approaching from the hallway outside the room, and a pair of voices. One was deep, the other light. Malik hopped off the desk and opened the door. Rishid Ishtar, dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, greying jeans and tan work boots, was conversing with a young man Isis had never seen before.

Or maybe she had. She couldn't tell.

He _looked _like Seto Kaiba, but…his hair was a much lighter shade of brown. He was not as tall as Rishid, but close. In stark contrast with his companion, the man was dressed in a crisp, clean, custom-tailored white suit. A similarly stark-white fedora, pulled low on his head, covered his face in shadow, but she could still see that his light blue eyes were nearly the same color as her own.

This could not be Seto Kaiba.

And yet…

"….really a point to doing that?" the Kaiba clone was asking.

"It was…an order," Rishid answered, looking flustered but refusing to _not _be polite, "and I was not yet in my right mind."

"Huh. Suppose I have no room to judge there." The man in the white suit glanced into the room. "So long as your mind is right enough to refuse, should an order like that come again."

"…Of course," Rishid said.

The Kaiba clone turned his attention to the others. "Well, now. Fair morn to ye scholarly pursuers. Everybody playing nice now?" There was an edge to his voice, not as deep or as gravelly as Seto Kaiba's but identical in its inherent arrogance. Mokuba flinched again. "What say, kid? Are we keeping the peace?"

Mokuba bowed his head again. "Yes, Noa."

Noa…_Noa?_

Isis blinked. Did that mean…?

Noa strode forward, swept his hat from his head and bowed deeply before Isis, with a flourish that made it instantly clear that in spite of the fact that he did, in fact, look nearly identical to the elder Kaiba brother, he was most certainly not. _"Konnichiwa, Ishutaru-sensei," _he said with the ease of a silver-tongued native.

_"Yoroshiku-onegaishimasu," _replied Isis, unsure of what else to say.

Noa straightened, looking delighted. He winked at her and clicked his tongue.

Rishid was watching Mokuba. When the young Kaiba looked at him, he bowed deeply. "My deepest apologies, Young Master Kaiba. I do not believe we have been properly introduced. You have only seen me, I regret, at my most depraved. I am Rishid Ishtar."

The sincerity, the humility, in Rishid's voice and body language seemed to take Mokuba completely off-guard. The boy stared openly, clearly with no idea how to react. Isis realized that—without regard to whether or not the boy had been justified the day before—Rishid had done precisely the right thing to completely disarm any hostility Mokuba might have had for a man who'd kidnapped him.

Despite the fact that he had been the only one to do any sort of active harm to the boy, Rishid had just placed himself at the top of Mokuba's list of "Ishtars worth Forgiving." Before anything else, before the vaguest of pleasantries, he'd kept the peace. Isis couldn't help but let out a tiny little chuckle. The man really was a marvel.

"…Hello, Rishid," Mokuba said, with a tiny little wave.

"I trust matters have been resolved to your satisfaction?" Rishid asked. "I am sure that my siblings have behaved…adequately?" Malik flinched violently, looking guilty, but Rishid only had eyes for Young Master Kaiba.

"Ah…yes. Yes, it's fine."

Rishid beamed. "Very well, then."

"So, there won't be any problems with coming back next week?" Noa asked, directing the question both at his brother and at Isis. There was one thing in particular about this man that struck her as thoroughly alien, now that she paid closer attention: he looked…and felt…like a predator. There was an innate sense of foreboding surrounding him. Like he could, at the slightest provocation, rip a person in half. An absurd thought, but nonetheless Isis admitted that for all his faults, Seto Kaiba had never made her feel quite so…_intimidated._

"No," Mokuba said. "I'm coming back on Saturday."

"Good deal, then!" Noa declared happily. "C'mon, kiddo. Aniki's waiting in the parking lot."

As they left, Mokuba asked, "…Since when do you call him that, anyway?"

Noa simply shrugged.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Mokuba's bedroom was sometimes called a cyclone by the staff, but Noa found it only messy insofar as it was disorganized. As he stepped into the doorway and took stock of it, he noted a number of things: the books on the boy's shelf were far above his grade level, more than a few of them probably having been chosen simply because his brother liked and/or approved of them. A cork-board hung near his desk, covered by newspaper clippings and magazine photos of Seto's innumerable public appearances. Posters from various videogames were taped to the walls.

Noa smiled. He liked this room. He liked it a good deal.

Mokuba was seated on his bed, back against the headboard, head hanging backward as he stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't crying, but he looked like he very much wanted to. When he spoke, his voice was steady…but desolate.

"…He's still mad at me."

Noa leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah. He is."

Mokuba sat up straight and looked at his adoptive sibling. "He's always saying I should stand up for myself. He says I shouldn't let people push me around. I thought…I thought that's what…I was doing."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "Do you?" He stepped into the room, putting his feet in the precise spots to ensure that he wouldn't trip, and sat on the edge of Mokuba's bed. "Let's look back on things, shall we? The way I hear it told, I interrupted the Malik fiasco. So I'm not too well-versed on the details. Mind filling me in? What happened? Who is this guy?"

"…He was some kind of criminal overlord or something," Mokuba said. "He was younger than Niisama, but he still had…like, this empire. Loads of followers. And he used this…hypnosis or something. Yugi says he could enter people's minds, and control what they did. He used his power to…try to kill us. For the God cards."

Noa slipped a hand into a pocket of his slacks and removed a pack of chewing gum. He took a piece and popped it into his mouth, handing the rest of the pack to Mokuba. The youngest Kaiba declined. "I sense skepticism. You don't think he could do that? Control people's minds, I mean?"

"I don't know. I never saw him do it. But Niisama says it was probably brainwashing, like a cult or something like that."

Noa's eyes sparkled. "And if Niisama says it, it must be true."

Mokuba flinched, fidgeted, and looked off at the wall. "Well…kinda."

"…Here's the thing, Mokuba," Noa said, stern but still with a lighter tone than he would have taken with anyone else, sounding like he had been waiting solely for this particular opening. "You're a special case for him. You know it, I know it, the American people know it. Aniki," he stopped here, as if still unsure whether he liked the sound of that name, or the feel of it on his tongue, "is Grade-X rotten when it comes to social niceties…except with you. He makes an effort with you far beyond that with which he's comfortable. Do you know what I mean by that?"

Mokuba looked back at the man and frowned. "He's nicer to me than everyone else."

"Partly. More to the point, though, all those virtues we tend to think are important when dealing with other people: politeness, patience, graciousness, humility…a sense of _humor_…all those things. He makes an effort to force them out, beyond what he's willing to make with other people, for you. Because Aniki has obscene standards, for himself and for everyone. And _you, _my messy-headed little friend," Noa ruffled the boy's hair, "are the only person he knows who's always upheld those standards. At every turn. Even when Aniki himself wasn't holding to those standards…you were."

Mokuba shook his head. "Not really. I don't get straight A's or…invent things or…_any _of the stuff Niisama did when he was a kid."

Noa chuckled. Hopping off the bed, he squatted down on his heels on the floor, picking up an action figure and fiddling with it. "You spend so much time staring up at your brother that you forget what's beneath you. Whether you match his _accomplishments _doesn't matter." He tossed the toy into the air, watched it rise and fall, and caught it. Pointing at his brother with the figure, Noa continued: "That's not how Aniki determines whether you've crossed a line. The crazy thing about people like him…and me, for that matter…is that when we look at things someone else does, we analyze. We scrutinize, theorize, and come to a conclusion. Do you follow me?"

"…Sort of?"

Noa hopped back onto his feet. Mokuba had noticed over time that the middle Kaiba couldn't sit still for very long. He was constantly moving, shifting position, fiddling with pens or his hat or his coat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Your brother isn't normal. Hell, nobody's normal. There's no end-all standard on which we can lay our conclusions on what's _good _or not about accomplishments. Case in point: if I run a six-minute mile, is that an accomplishment? Not really. I'm a freaking cyborg. But if somebody with a physical disability runs a six-minute mile…well, hell, that's pretty damn good, isn't it?"

Mokuba frowned. "I shouldn't compare myself to my brother because I'm dumber than him?"

Noa didn't bat an eyelash. "Your brother resurrected the dead. With science. _Everyone _is dumber than he is. That's not what I mean. I mean, we've all got a certain potential. Aniki got this far with his because society, and my father, forced him. Nobody's forcing you to push yourself to the breaking point."

Seeing that this wasn't making much of an impact—Mokuba still looked entirely unconvinced—Noa frowned and tried another tack: "You're old enough now to have your own theories and your own beliefs. And if Niisama disapproves, that doesn't make it _bad. _Just because your brother's disappointed doesn't make you wrong, or that you need to push yourself to be more like him so you'll agree with him. If you look at what he says, and think about why you did what you did—in this case, refuse to deal with a psychopathic former crime-lord with a God complex—and decide you agree…okay, sure. Take what he says under serious advisement, because he's older than you and he's been around the block a few times. But if you're still convinced, the _worst _thing you can do is acquiesce. You know? I'm talking too much. You're glazed as a doughnut right now. Which reminds me, I'm hungry."

Mokuba found a smile. "Me, too. But…I mean…what he said…"

"Was predicated by frustration and exasperation which had nothing to do with you," Noa finished, and jerked a thumb at himself. "The reason he expected you not to…hitch a fit, I guess, about dealing with Malik is because _I_ am _his _Malik."

"…Huh?"

"I'll make this simple," Noa said, sounding almost bored. "I was an enemy, who nearly killed you, for ultimately selfish reasons, based upon the whim and fancy of a psychotic delusion. Does that sound familiar?"

Realization was beginning to dawn on Mokuba's face. His smile disappeared.

"I suppose Aniki thought, since you're expecting _him _to tolerate _my _presence, that you would tolerate Malik Ishtar's. And I further suppose that he finds it disappointing that you opted to back out, when that option isn't exactly open to him."

New guilt sprang forth, and Mokuba looked down at his lap. "…Oh."

Noa reached over and patted his brother's leg. "Tell you what, kid. I'll make you a deal."

Mokuba looked up. "Huh?"

"You figure out what you need to do about Ishtar, and do it. You do that, and I'll talk to Aniki. I speak his language. I'll get him to see reason. Deal?"

Mokuba frowned thoughtfully for a long moment. Noa held out a hand.

The young Kaiba took the hand and shook it. "Okay."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"_Gooooood _evening, sir. Did you find everything you needed?"

Malik had already gone through the pitch before realizing that the person standing in front of him didn't have anything to purchase. The young man simply stood there, on the other side of the cash register, staring at him. No wallet, no cart, nothing. The store was about to close, Malik was exhausted—he hadn't properly slept in a week—and he didn't even notice that he recognized this particular (non)customer until he(it) spoke.

Ryou Bakura was staring at him. "Ah...Malik Ishtar!" he cried happily, as if seeing an old friend for the first time in years. "I didn't know you were working here. It's been a long time, hasn't it? How have you been?"

It was innocent enough. Like any other meeting between acquaintances. Malik had heard from the other duelists that Ryou Bakura was a friendly sort, but hadn't they _also _said that he was cripplingly shy? Malik would have expected him to be far more sheepish; perhaps to pretend that he didn't recognize him at all. At the most, he might have given a quiet little "Hello" and left it at that. This bright, effervescent Bakura didn't seem right at all, even to a man who had only seen him a handful of times.

"I've been doing well enough," Malik said, with that intrinsically _fake _voice one reserved for people he should have remembered but didn't, feeling somehow obligated to converse with this man in spite of everything. "Yourself?"

"Fine, fine, just fine," Ryou replied, grinning a gleaming, toothy grin that didn't look right on his face. "I have a job myself, now. It's just delivering newspapers right now, but I'm hoping once I graduate, I'll be able to start a career in journalism. I like to write, but I don't get much of a chance to do it these days. You know? Very busy."

"Mm," Malik offered, too tired to engage in the usual song-and-dance that came with social niceties. His head was pounding, his blood felt hot, and his eyes were beginning to blur. Ryou Bakura didn't seem to take the hint.

"It's so good to see you! Where are you living now?"

"I'm sharing an apartment with Rishid and Isis," Malik said.

"How nice," Ryou said. "Living with family. How are they?"

"Fine. They're fine."

"I hear your sister is teaching now," Ryou prodded. "That's wonderful. Does she like her job?"

"Yes." Gods, why was he _talking _so much? "Yes, she does. She says it's more fulfilling to talk to people than to old stone tablets. Can I, uh…help you with anything, Ryou? Do you need help finding something?"

Ryou shook his head. "Oh, no. I found everything just fine. Thank you." He reached across the counter and picked up a tin of breath mints.

"One dollar, thirty seven cents," Malik said.

Ryou paid for the mints, pocketed them, and left the store without another word. Malik finished his shift without further incident, but his mind—formerly groggy and focused only on whether or not he would be able to make it home or if he'd end up passing out in the parking lot—began to whirl and swim.

He began his walk home. Malik normally put in ear-buds and let his mp3 player guide him, but this night he kept the device in his pocket. His eyes spun and bounced in his skull as he struggled to take in every last detail of his surroundings. He was running back to his days in the criminal underground, when losing sight of his surroundings could very well have led to an early death. Then, though, he had had Rishid at his back. Strong, hulking, capable Rishid, ready and willing to obey his every command.

Malik did not have his brother right now.

Nor did he have the single weapon he'd _always _had up his sleeve. The Millennium Rod was hidden, locked away and forgotten. Or so he would have liked to believe.

In his peripheral vision, Malik could see a figure standing in the light-barraged spattering of shadows that made up Domino City at night. Behind a light post, stepping up behind a mailbox, standing behind a window. Malik Ishtar was not a coward; he was young, and naïve, and in many ways he was still a child. But he was _not_ a coward. Yet this night, his pace quickened in step with his heart as panic began to set in.

He knew this feeling; this cold, creeping dread.

It was the same feeling with which he'd learned to live as a boy, trapped in his tomb of a childhood home, with his father leaning over his shoulder at every given moment.

It was—

Malik whirled, sure that Ryou Bakura was coming up behind him, only to terrify the wits out of a young woman with a shopping bag. "Oh!" she said. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you!"

"That's…fine," Malik said. "I had my headphones in. I didn't hear you."

He left, disregarding the look of confusion on the woman's face—he very clearly _wasn't _wearing headphones—trying to remember if the Millennium Ring allowed a person to change their appearance.

Could he have…?

The Millennium Ring.

Of _course!_

Oh, God. He had it. Ryou Bakura had the Millennium Ring.

Or, maybe it was more appropriate to say that the Millennium Ring had Ryou Bakura_._

Malik broke into a full sprint, not even paying attention to the other people sharing the night with him. Panic had given way to sheer survival instinct, and he pushed and tossed and barreled his way through the streets toward home. Toward sanctuary.

Malik had never feared the Ring before…but before, he had had the Rod to defend him.

He had to get out of here. He had to get out of the naked openness of the city.

When he reached his apartment building and bounded up the steps two at a time, crushing himself against the door as he fumbled his keys into submission, a part of Malik realized that something was wrong about this; something more than just a threat to his well-being. This was…this was…

He threw himself into the front room of his apartment. Isis stood up from the couch, setting aside the book she'd been holding in her lap, looking worried. Rishid stepped into the room from the kitchen.

"Malik?"

"What is it, Brother?"

Malik tried to answer.

But then, it happened.

_**I have been patient, **_boomed an echoing voice between his ears. It was a threat given sentience, pushing against the inside of Malik's skull and driving him to his knees. His siblings ran up to him; Rishid put his big hands on his brother's shoulders. Isis stared directly into his eyes, as if she might _will _an answer out of him.

But Malik no longer realized they were there.

All he could see, all he could understand, was that voice.

_**I have been generous. I have **_**sent **_**them to you. You remain willfully ignorant. This is unacceptable. It is high time that I elect a more direct means of contact. You have failed to serve your purpose, servant. I am…disappointed.**_

Malik's lavender eyes went wide, and his mouth opened as a look of manic terror crossed his young face. Isis was screaming at him; Rishid was shaking him.

This…this was…

"Se—"

* * *

**END.**


	12. The Faithful Shall Return Home

_**So begins Book II, "You are My Reason."**_

_**I'm setting up the pieces on the game board, and it's in this book that the story I started with in "Shifting Images" will begin its new treatment. The chapters that have been posted so far have been setting the stage so that the "Images" storyline will make sense.**_

_** It will be a while before the next chapter is put up; I don't have any scenes drafted after these. There's nothing to revise, nothing to tweak, nothing to edit. I have to figure out where I'm going next, and write it out before I can begin my usual process. But don't worry. This semester's workload is quite a bit less…demanding, so far, so I should be able to spend more time on my projects; this one is very important to me.**_

_** All right, let's see what's going on.**_

_** Enjoy.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

Days became weeks; weeks months. If asked, Katie McKinley wouldn't have been able to tell exactly what it was about Kay Mayer that continuously drew her and Renie in; the friendship that blossomed between them was as easy and natural as those built during early childhood. There were no questions asked, no doubts held. They simply…clicked.

Perhaps that was why Katie felt no need to second-guess herself when she said: "Hey, you wanna hitch a ride with us back home for Fall break?"

For her part, Kay simply smiled. "Domino City? I don't know about that. I hear there are some unsavory sorts lying in wait. Whatever will happen to my purity?"

"Worry not, fair maiden!" Renie cried, holding up her fork as though to brandish it in combat. "We shall slay any miscreant forces seeking to o'ertake thy virtue!"

This earned Renie a number of strange looks from nearby tables, but Kay didn't seem to mind. If anything, she was touched by the gesture, strange as it was. Renie seemed to have that effect on people; her idiosyncrasies, and there were a great many, were oddly charming. Though she was now a "university student" and worked at the university's bookstore, though she was paying her own way and lived off-campus in a single's apartment, it was the most egregious of mistakes to say that Renie Eubank had "grown up." She would have been insulted at the very thought.

"Oh, well, in _that _case," Kay said, displaying her right hand in front of Renie as though waiting for her to kiss it—which Renie did without hesitation, "I would be perfectly willing to accompany you. Whenceforth shall my chariot arrive?"

Renie grinned. "We're heading back on Thursday, right after Professor Milton's midterm." She leaned back in her seat. "Road trip!"

So, they spent that next Friday in Renie's burgundy Geo Metro, cramped but enjoying themselves entirely too much, sharing stories and jokes and basking in that all too intoxicating aura of new camaraderie.

"…And so he said, 'Do _you _want to do the talking? I can just sit here, and _you_ can educate us.'" Kay crossed her arms and assumed a statuesque expression of absolute calm. "He just sat there, until she stopped. Staff had to escort the lady out of the library. I about _died_. It would have been like laughing in church, you know? Nobody _dared. _But everybody thought it was hysterical."

Renie was grinning. "Sounds like my kinda politician. I'd vote for 'im. You ever help out on his campaign, Kay?"

"I was a canvasser…once. Some old man invited me inside his house, said he was just about ready for his sponge-bath, but he wanted to talk to me." Kay's face went pale green. "I…didn't last very long at that job."

"Post-traumatic stress will do that to you," Katie said. "I tried to sell AVON once…for about a week-and-a-half. Thirty-two doors, two people talked to me. Didn't _buy _anything, but they talked to me. I sent them Christmas cards that year."

The topic eventually shifted to school. "What classes are you taking this semester?" Renie asked Kay at one point, about two hours away from Domino City. It was nearing sunset, and they were all tired. Katie, in fact, had fallen asleep.

"English Lit," Kay said, ticking off each course on her fingers, "Child Develpment, Physical Anthropology, and Egyptian History."

These last two caught Renie's attention. "Egypt, huh?" she asked. "Lots of people into Egypt these days."

"Really?" Kay asked, sounding surprised. "There aren't many people in that class. I was under the impression it was a dying art."

"You're just from the wrong side of the continent, Sister," Renie said. "The amount o' talk comes out of Domino about Egypt…you'd be surprised. You ever heard of _Magic & Wizards?"_

"I think my niece plays that," Kay said. "It's a card game, right?"

"Right. Well, I dunno as much about it as Kate does, but this game was based on something out of Egypt. The creator was inspired by some tablets, I guess. Heiroglyphics, you know. And there's no mistake…Domino City is the Mecca of card games. Biggest tournaments in the known world end up here. Thanks in no small part to…well. We've already told you about _him."_

Kay smiled. "Seto Kaiba."

"Mm-hm! S'right, babe."

"He plays _Magic & Wizards, _doesn't he?"

"Used to. Retired a couple years back. Focuses on other projects now, but every so often he'll make an appearance. Present an award, host an exhibition match, stuff like that. He actually gave professional commentary on one match. His brother took on some up-and-comer from outta town. It was the first time he and Mokuba ever played live, for a crowd. It was…transcendent."

"Crowd?" Kay asked. "You make this game sound like a sporting event."

"Is you _learnin' _yet? Sweetie, in Domino City a card game _is _a sporting event. Haven't you ever seen any of the matches on TV? With KC's _Solid Vision _holograms? It's pretty intense stuff. Especially live, let me tell you. Kate 'n me, we got front-row seats to that match. I think Mokuba was…oh, what, eight goin' on nine years old? Yeah, 'round there. His opponent was some kid, called himself Ghost."

"How, exactly, does one commentate on a card game? I'm picturing a professional poker tournament or something."

Renie looked offended. "Bitch, _please. _Don't you put Seto Kaiba in league with those has-beens. Ever wonder what it'd be like if you had a pro wrestling announcer at the Roman Coliseum? Yeah. It was like _that. _But with explosions and dragons and frickin' _zombies. _There was a _pumpkin _with _tentacles, _girl. Do you _hear _me? It was amazing."

Kay couldn't help but grin. Renie's energy was infectious. She said, "All right, all right, let's say I believe you. What, exactly, do tentacles and pumpkins have to do with Egypt, again?"

"Oh, hush. Plenty of Egyptian references in those cards if you look. Now me, I don't play. I'm not what you'd call a _strategist. _I suck. Tell you who kicked _ass _at it, though: Kate's kid brother, Zack. That kid _always _beat me. He could have been a professional…"

Renie trailed off.

Kay opened her mouth to respond, more curious than she wanted to admit about this children's game from Egypt, but then she got a good look at Renie's face in the rearview mirror. Her normally happy-go-lucky, bubbly expression suddenly turned horrified, and her grinning mouth snapped closed as though she'd uttered some sort of curse. Renie gave a spasmodic glance at Katie, and let out a sigh of relief when she snored softly.

"…Touchy subject?" Kay ventured.

"Uh…yeah. Forget I mentioned that, huh? Forget I even told you his name. It's…best we don't go into it." It didn't take a psychiatrist to figure out what was going on here. Kay was certain that, when she stepped into Katie McKinley's home for the first time, she would _not _be meeting anyone named Zack, who kicked ass at _Magic & Wizards_.

The mood turned decidedly somber after that, and neither Kay nor Renie said another word until Katie woke up, about fifteen minutes outside of Domino City.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

It was like watching an elaborate stage-play; a staff of butlers and maids, gardener and chef, security guards and general maintenance workers, all keeping up work on a mansion where nobody lived. It was the ultimate metaphor for extravagance. For any outsider who might have been looking in, the strangest part would have been that nobody seemed to notice anything strange about the whole thing. Everyone seemed perfectly willing to go along with the farce.

It had all the trappings and romanticism of a Renaissance château, with spiraling staircase towers and ornate glazed windows staring out on the neighboring countryside like the eyes of a sleeping beast. Steel-framed and surrounded by a great maze of gardens, and topped by royal violet flags with a family crest bearing the stark image of a crow surrounded by wispy streams of gold, this sprawling edifice had been at times mistaken for both an ancient castle and the centerpiece of a national park.

The interior was just as elaborate and extravagant as the image outside; however, it was the precise opposite when it came to mood. Instead of the archaic-looking tapestries and 18th-century masterpieces framed on the walls; instead of flowered vases crusted with gemstones; instead of carrying the glitz and glamor of a new-age celebrity or the ancient austerity of a feudal lord, it was like the theme-park-laden dream home of a schoolboy.

Where other such mansions might have had printings of classic art, this place had animation cels of famous cartoon characters; where other mansions might have had a towering library filled to the brim with leather-bound first editions, this place had comic books and graphic novels. Promotional posters, action figures, collectible statues, covered every spare space. It was not, however, without a sense of order. Each article was lovingly placed and painstakingly maintained; each poster and cel was framed and hung with the utmost care, and each volume in the library was set perfectly into its shelf.

A severe-looking man with grey hair and a meticulously trimmed mustache, dressed in a pinstriped suit, strode through the halls of this mystifying combination of bourgeoisie and bizarre without the faintest sense of irony. He wore dark glasses to hide his narrow-slit eyes, and spoke to no one as he passed. He had the precise stride of a soldier, the show-nothing facial expression of a federal agent. He walked quickly, taking great care not to reveal any inkling of the way his thoughts were swirling through his mind like a tropical storm.

He stopped at a huge set of double-doors on the second floor, flanked by a pair of security guards who could have passed for twins. "How long?" he asked, his voice thick and grave, delivering much more emotion than he would have liked.

"Roughly an hour, Mister Croquet," said the guard on the left; he was bald, tanned, and clearly well-muscled. His gargantuan frame looked ready to burst through his suit. "We called for you immediately. Rochelle entered his chamber this morning, and found that he'd regained consciousness."

"Open the doors," Croquet all but snarled.

"Of cour—" The other guard, much leaner and more compact than his partner but no less imposing, began to reach over to grasp the handle of the right door when he was cut off by another voice, smooth and cultured, from the room beyond.

_"No need for that. I'm coming out."_

The doors opened, and out stepped a man straight out of a Victorian romance. Dressed in a stylishly-tailored crimson suit and a ruffled white shirt, with a sheen of silver hair falling across one side of his smooth, clean-shaven face, was Pegasus Jarlath Crawford. His trademark smirk was on his lips, his hands outstretched as though he were preparing to make a presentation, and he looked…just as healthy and confident as he had ever been.

Croquet very nearly fainted, or otherwise bolted from the man's presence. He felt the absurd desire to take a knee before this man, who had been dead to the world for more than three years. "M-Mister Crawford. Sir. It's…it's a pleasure to see you up and walking again."

Pegasus chuckled. "I'm sure. Come, Croquet. Walk with me."

Croquet followed his employer down the hall. "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Disoriented is as pleasant a word for it as I am liable to find," Pegasus replied smoothly, grandly ignoring the looks of flabbergasted surprise that he received from every member of his personal staff. "How long have I been…indisposed?"

"Forty-one months and three weeks."

Pegasus grimaced. This answer seemed to put a bad taste in his mouth; he stopped a man walking past him and requested that a bottle of red wine be brought to his study. "The company?" he asked cryptically.

Croquet cleared his throat. "Ah…yes. Well, in the time since your, ah…disappearance, we have been working more and more closely with the Kaiba Corporation." He seemed nervous, preparing for an explosive response to this.

But Pegasus laughed. "Don't be coy, Croquet. We're a subsidiary. The only reason Industrial Illusions still exists is because Seto Kaiba has a sardonic sense of humor. So…it's come to this, has it?"

"…Sir?" Croquet raised an eyebrow. "This doesn't...concern you?"

"Not in the slightest!" Pegasus replied. "The boy isn't stupid. He knows full and well that my name has value, else he would have driven me straight into the dirt. This simply means I must…rebuild." He glanced at his subordinate, grinning. "This should be fun."

He entered into his private study after a few minutes of silence, and sat down behind his desk. He spied a neat stack of graphic novels in one corner next to a bottle of Bordeaux, and looked like a child at Christmas. "Most _excellent! _Croquet, do me a favor, won't you? See if you can't get in contact with our parent company and set up a…personal meeting." He glanced at a computer monitor hanging on a nearby wall. "I believe I have some catching up to do, don't I? Ah, but this _will _be entertaining."

Croquet inclined his head. "Of course, Mister Crawford. By your leave, sir."

Pegasus grinned again, and waved his hand. Croquet left the room.

Three years. It had been three years since the president of Industrial Illusions, once one of the most powerful corporate entities in the country, had fallen into a coma. He'd been sequestered in his private bedchamber, unconscious, since that last day of his _Magic & Wizards _tournament, Duelist Kingdom; that monumental day so long ago, when he'd lost his golden eye, and with it his—

Wait.

With a sudden fever, Croquet whirled around and threw himself back into his employer's study. Pegasus was sifting through charts and reports on the monitor, still with that grin on his face; he turned and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Croquet? Did you forget something?"

There it was.

He could see it. Behind the curtain of his hair, twinkling like some distant promise, was the barest glimmer of gold.

Croquet shook his head.

"…Nothing, sir."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

He didn't wake, so much as he began a new existence.

It was not surprise that met him, or confusion; merely disappointment. It did not show in his statuesque face nor his pupil-less eyes. He began to walk, sandals scratching on stone and robes whispering behind them. He had tanned skin, and wore a turban atop his head. His odd eyes were blue, but it was no shade of blue that anyone had ever seen in someone's eyes; the color seemed to twist and swirl, sometimes cyan, sometimes cerulean, sometimes the deathly whisper of an iceberg.

He ascended an old, cracked stone staircase; when the acridness of the desert air met his face, there was no reaction. He did not squint, or shield his face. It would have been a mistake to say that he was even alive; there was a much subtler quality to his existence. The spirit of the fallen king, who called himself Yami, would have come closest to understanding _what _he was, but even that bastion of arrogance did not have a complete picture.

His name was Shadi, and he was an intermediary.

"Behold," said he, "the Lord rideth upon a swift cloud, and shall come into Egypt. And the idols of Egypt shall be moved at his presence, and the heart of Egypt shall melt in the midst of it."

Shadi began to walk; in his right hand he held a set of golden scales; about his neck was a golden ankh. His white robes flitted about in the wind. The key did not; it was too heavy.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"The last of my brothers have returned," Yami said cryptically, his wine-colored eyes surveying the three faces in front of him. "I do not presume to know the nature of my failure, but the gods have refused my tribute. The Millennium Items have returned to their previous holders. My work has been stricken. Completely. Do you understand what this means?"

"I can take a stab in the dark and say it ain't good," Joey muttered.

"What could have happened?" Téa asked. "What went wrong?"

The spirit king leaned back in his seat and stared up at the ceiling. "It isn't my prerogative to dwell on why the past unfolded into this future." He looked like he was wrestling with a headache. "Think, you three. Think of what this means. Yugi has been given the Puzzle; Isis Ishtar has been given the Tauk. But _Malik _Ishtar now holds the Rod, Shadi has regained the Scales and the Ankh." Three pairs of eyes began to widen as the realization set in. Yami's own eyes narrowed. "But most troubling of all…Pegasus Crawford has his Eye, and Ryou Bakura has regained the Ring."

"Oh, God…"

For the first time in his life, that they had ever seen, Yami looked guilty. He sighed. "Precisely. The tattered remains of that boy's sanity hinged on the belief that Yugi and I finally banished the darkness from him. Now it has returned. Do you see, my friends?" Again, for the first time, Yami seemed to be using the word literally. "Do you see how _gargantuan _my failure is? Everything we've done is being dismantled. The gods are angered."

Joey, Tristan, and Téa shared worried, superstitious glances.

This was a first for them: even in the most hopeless of circumstances, Yami always exuded absolute confidence. They had borne witness to the threshold of Armageddon a number of times, and they had triumphed. A ragtag group of teenagers, like something straight out of a summer movie, had saved the _fucking world_.

This was the first time Yami, Atemhotep, former god-king of Egypt, had ever looked _worried. _He said, "It won't be long before…" And then he stopped, suddenly as though hearing something that the rest of them couldn't.

Yami stood up, his eyes closed. "…It begins," he finished.

Bare moments later, they could all hear footsteps rushing up the staircase that connected the game shop to the residence above it. Isis Ishtar stumbled up to them, out of breath and pale of face. "Yugi! Yugi Mutou!"

Yami took a step forward, looking solemn.

Behind her, hunched low to support his brother, climbed the considerable bulk of Rishid. He did not speak, but his scarred face spoke for him. His eyes found Yami, and they were wide with worry.

Malik took his arm from around his sibling's shoulders and collapsed to the floor. Clutched in his left fist, glowing with otherworldly light and surrounded by smoke as it cooked the former tomb-keeper's flesh, was the Millennium Rod.

"…My…my king…" Malik hissed through clenched teeth, unable to lift his head. "Please…" This last word came out as a shuddering wheeze, racked with pain.

"Please," Isis echoed, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "There must be…_something _you can do!"

Yami stared at the crumpled form of the youngest Ishtar, his face blank. Gone was the worry. Gone was the fear. There was a certain sense of regality in him now. Almost as if…this reminded him of something.

Something important.

The spirit king spoke, low and meticulous, malice dripping from each syllable. "So…you've reduced yourself to this, have you? Have the centuries dulled your memory? The man I remember would have recognized the folly of this stunt."

Malik shuddered, gasped, and then rose to a kneeling position. When his eyes met Yami's, they were not pained; they were disgusted. Malik's face screwed up in an expression of absolute disdain. "Do not lecture me," said Malik's voice, absent Malik's mind. Isis stiffened; Rishid stared.

"It would appear that I must," Yami murmured. "Remove yourself from my servant."

_"Your _servant?" the presenceinside Malik sneered. "You forget yourself."

"So, it seems, do you. You shame me…cousin."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**The quote from Shadi in the beginning of Verse Three comes from Isaiah, Chapter 19, Verse 1, from the King James English translation of the Bible.**_

_** Also…DUN-DUN-DUNNNNN…**_

_** Do you know who it is, yet? Who has inhabited Malik's body to confront Yami?**_

_** Three guesses, folks.**_

_** As I said, this chapter is setting some of the final pieces into place for things to take off. So long after its inception, I am nearing the point where I'll actually be able to revisit the plot points that made up "Shifting Images," that story that was born when I was still in high school.**_

_** I'm excited.**_

_** I hope that you are, too.**_

_** 'Til next time, everyone.**_


	13. Strong is His Mighty Arm

_**For those of you who will read this multiple times, I apologize. Feel free to ignore this if you've already seen it, and move on to the chapter. Also, fair warning: some harsh language comes in this time, courtesy of a new character.**_

_**Here in my neck of the woods, it is now the 9**__**th**__** day of February, in the year 2012. Ten years ago today, I came across Fanfiction-dot-Net. I proceeded to publish "Lonely, Broken Hero," the first story I wrote that ever felt complete. It was inspired by a song, written for the Square-Enix game "Chrono Trigger," and marked the beginning of a lifelong passion.**_

_**Since February 9**__**th**__**, 2002, I have had the honor of meeting some of the greatest people on earth. These people have given me 5,885 reviews, thousands of Favorites, and over 1.8 million hits across 40 projects. These people have supported me, cheered for me, informed me, criticized me, and helped me embark on some of the most memorable journeys of my life. I never would have made it without them.**_

_**To celebrate this illustrious anniversary, and to thank you for being the best audience an author could ever ask for, I have written extra chapters for each of my 8 ongoing projects. I present them to you now, and humble myself before you. Were it not for you, these stories never would have come into being, or lasted nearly as long as they have.**_

_**Thank you again. You all have changed my life.**_

_**Here's to another decade of adventure and exploration.**_

_**Enjoy.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"A tattoo? Seriously."

Noa turned to face his elder brother, raising a curious eyebrow. "Is that a problem?" he asked, quaintly polite. "Surely it isn't against your employment policy, Kaiba-shachou. Artistic expression is the crux of your business, is it not?"

Seto shrugged. "I'm not that stupid _or_ that petty," he said. "I merely wondered at your choice of expression. I would have thought that _you, _of all people, would refrain from the outright cliché of having Japanese characters grafted to your skin."

Indeed, bold and prominent down Noa's upper right arm were the following:

**モ**

**ク**

**バ**

"There's a difference," Noa said. _"I_ actually know what it means."

"As do I," Seto replied with a certain amount of irritation. "Do you not find it somewhat…forced? As though I _don't _know your allegiance already? As if anyone with a _brain _in this city hadn't already figured out that you prefer his company."

Noa chuckled. "You're jealous," he said, grinning broadly. "Oh. My. G. You're _jealous, _aren't you?"

Seto actually looked physically ill. "Excuse me?"

"You _are!" _Noa laughed. "That's _adorable. _Don't worry, Aniki. It doesn't mean I don't love you. It's just that I play favorites. Oh, and as to the _real _reason this bothers you, I could have gotten a locket like you have, but I thought it was a bit tacky to steal your shtick. I'd like to showcase my solidarity, too, you know." He glanced at his arm. "Besides. I'm _street."_

Seto stared for a moment longer, then rolled his eyes and turned away. "Well, then, go and pick him up from school, since you're so loyal_. _He seems to have taken a liking to having you walk with him." Was there bitterness in his voice? Noa wasn't sure, but he filed it away just the same. "I'll be home at nine-thirty or so. Roland will be stationed at the house. Do _not _let him eat his way into a sugar-induced coma."

"Roland?" Noa asked, his grin widening. "He doesn't seem like he'd have an eating disorder, Aniki. Or a sweet tooth, for that matter."

Seto sneered. "Get moving. His last class lets out in three minutes."

"Aye-aye, Mister President!" Noa went ramrod straight, saluted, and rocketed out of the front door as though he intended to start a footrace with God. Seto sighed heavily, shook his head, and grabbed his coat.

"Family is _important," _he muttered to himself. "Family is important. Family is important."

He continued in this vein all the way out to his car and as he slipped inside, only to find a basket of cookies sitting on his passenger seat. Confusion bordering on rampant terror met the eldest Kaiba's face as he picked up a small card sitting atop the shrink-wrap.

* * *

**Niisama,**

**Noa said it would be cute, and funny. I agreed.**

**Love you,**

**Mokuba**

* * *

Seto blinked. Wet his lips.

Blinked again.

His smirk returned as he backed out of the front gates, and by the time he made it to Kaiba-Corp's main parking garage he was in a rather good mood again.

Sort of.

He set the cookies on the receptionists' desk as he slipped the card into a jacket pocket, ignoring the thoroughly flabbergasted look on Kyoko's face.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

It had been a long time, so long that he really couldn't remember, since Mokuba Kaiba had been a target of bullying. Some of it had to do with public exposure; while he had been seen in public any number of times with his brother, and had given presentations for Kaiba-Corp, he had also been cultivating an online presence through various games and social networks; Seto had only half-suggested the idea of starting a YouTube channel as a way to express himself without the label of the Kaiba Corporation hanging over his head, but the youngest Kaiba had grown up learning never to do anything halfway.

He'd started that YouTube channel, but he'd also started a blog, and signed up with Twitter, Facebook, and anything else he could think of; his popularity, first gained only through his name, had shot up like a rocket in the past year or so. Mokuba didn't like to think too much about his web-stardom (as someone had called it in a random article); it rather embarrassed him. But one of the most important things that it had done for him was to virtually eradicate any semblance of bullying at school. He had too many supporters (he refused to call them "followers," as it made him think of a religious cult).

Until now, apparently.

Mokuba was waiting at the corner for Noa to arrive when he was met instead by a rather gangly-looking ninth-grader with a serious chip on his shoulder. He was dressed…well? He had the look of a contemptuous sort of snobby kid, whose parents made good money but had few actual parenting skills; his button-down shirt was half-tucked-in beneath a sweater with some university's crest on it; he had shoulder-length hair that was messy—not on purpose, but simply because he hadn't bothered to comb it (or at least that's how Mokuba looked at it); and he had a certain level of what Seto sometimes called homegrown self-importance. He had a couple of friends with him—or what passed for friends in this kid's mind—and they were even worse. Mokuba didn't bother acknowledging the flunkies with his gaze; he kept his eyes locked on the leader.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The gangly ninth-grader sneered. "I don't like your attitude," he spat. "Strutting around like you own the fucking world. You _and _your asshole brother."

Mokuba's countenance, cool and distant to start with, turned frigid. "My brother prefers to respond to accusations of asshole-ism directly," he said mechanically, as though he were a secretary answering a phone. "If you'd leave your name and address, I can pass along your comments, and he'll get back to you."

"You think you're clever," the gangly ninth-grader hissed. "I'm clever, too."

"Fascinating," Mokuba said. "I'd ask you to explain, but I'm sure you already intended to do that." He put on an expression of keen expectation, looking almost manic as he did so. "Tell me! Wise and powerful elder! How clever _are _you?"

"Macky," said one of the flunkies, "he's makin' _fun _of you. Oughtta teach him some _manners. _Seems his brother's too busy to bother with it himself."

Macky smirked. "Yeah." He watched as his brilliantly deductive attendants stepped forward and grabbed Mokuba's arms, holding him in place. The young Kaiba didn't respond, letting himself be pinned, his face thoroughly and inexorably blank.

He might have been scared, if he hadn't been a Kaiba.

As it was, Mokuba simply stared. "Thanks," he said, "but I don't need help standing up."

"You will when _I'm _through with you, Kaiba," Macky said with a grimace.

"Well, good thing your friends are already here, then," Mokuba replied with a sunny smile. "It'd be kind of embarrassing to fall down out here where everyone can see."

Macky's eyes narrowed. "…You threatening me, Kaiba?" he asked in a low whisper.

Mokuba's eyebrows went up. "Nope. But _he _will."

Macky's face went slack, and he only turned around when he noticed that his friends had gone as pale as bed-sheets.

Noa stood there, dressed all in black except for his gleaming white sneakers, his hands in his pockets. He was dressed casually in black jeans and a tight black shirt with no sleeves. His well-toned arms were left bare, so that Mokuba could see he'd gotten a tattoo on the right one, starting just below the shoulder. Noa's face was expressionless, but his light blue eyes were dancing.

"…There a problem here, boys?" he asked.

"Let me introduce you," Mokuba said. "This is my cousin, Noa. Noa, this is Macky. I guess they're worried I won't be able to walk for very much longer, 'cuz these guys are holding me up. Isn't that thoughtful?"

"Oh, yeah," Noa replied, still expressionless. "Goddamn doctors without borders, you are."

"When'd _you _show up?" Macky squawked, like Noa was breaking some kind of rule by being here. "Who the hell're _you? _I ain't never heard of Kaiba having any _cousins!"_

"Damn. You caught me." Noa rolled his shoulders and took his hands out of his pockets. He stretched his fingers. "If you haven't heard of me, I must not exist." His eyes went wide, his expression quite insane, and even Mokuba shivered. "Guess that means I'm just an _enthusiast, _then."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"I don't care _what _you are," Macky snarled, and Mokuba at least had to give the idiot credit for not backing down and crying like a little girl. He attributed that more to wanton stupidity than bravery, but really…was there any real difference when you got right down to it? "You Kaibas all got this thing where you think you can do whatever the hell you want. Makes me _sick."_

"You should see a doctor," Noa murmured. There were no traces of his usual mirth on his face right now. He stared down at Macky like a judge waiting to pass sentence.

"Fuck you!" Macky shouted. "Buying and selling whoever you damn well please, don't give a _shit _about what it means for the rest of us! Riding around in your limos with your imported suits and six-thousand-dollar shoes so you can step on the people who _gave _it to you!"

"The only people who ever _gave _me anything are the ones who gave me life," Noa replied flatly.

"Oh, you just think you're a _fucking _messiah, don't you? Bet you're thinking what does this little _shit-stain _think he's doing, talking to _me? _You think I've got no right to _look _at you, don't you? It's a free damn country, least it's _s'posed _to be, and you're all just petering around like it's a monarchy, happy as you damn well please, letting the _slaves _do all the damn work."

The more Macky spoke, the more anger began to well up in Mokuba's chest.

Noa didn't look the faintest perturbed, however. Rather, he seemed amused.

Macky continued: "Well, looky here, Your damn-fuck Majesty, look what the _peasant's _gone and done! He's got your little mascot cornered, doesn't he? _Doesn't he?"_

The deeper Macky dug, the happier Noa seemed to get. His lips curved, slowly at first. Then he began to show his teeth—they were sneaking out like guards hiding behind a gate—and Mokuba realized that this wasn't going to end well.

_He looks like that guy from 300, _Mokuba thought, and on the heels of that he murmured, beneath his breath, "…Then we will fight in the shade…" so quiet that nobody took notice of it. But as Macky continued ranting, Noa continued to grin at him.

Then Noa began to speak, cutting Macky off mid-curse: "There's a funny little thing about fighting. People watch movies and TV, and they get this idea that it's easy. That all you have to do is curl up your fist and be the first one to shove it in the other guy's face, and you win."

Macky's fury began to leave him, making room for confusion.

"People forget," Noa continued, "that behind the other guy's face is a skull, and skulls are _hard. _Hardest bones in the human body, you know, and if you aren't careful about how you punch one, you'll come away with a broken hand. Maybe you'll cut a knuckle on some poor sap's teeth, and get infected."

Noa looked at his own hand as he made a fist. He seemed mesmerized by it.

"What…the hell…?" Macky breathed. _"You_ tryin' to threaten me now?"

"And kicks?" Noa continued, blissfully ignorant of his audience. "Don't even get me started on kicking. Freaking useless. Puts you off-balance, can't put enough force behind one to do any kinda real damage. Leaves your junk open, too, which…you know. That's a problem, I hear."

"That shit isn't gonna work on me!" Macky snarled. "Damn Kaibas! Think you can just…just…you better not think you can get away with anything, you…you…_bastard!_ You'll be in court before you can—"

_"But!"_ Noa cut him off, holding up one finger like he was announcing a prize. "You know what's fun? I'm an exception to all these rules and stuff. Know why?" He looked like he actually wanted Macky to say something. "C'mon, guess. Guess why I'm different."

"'Cuz you're rich, and this country gets off on catering to you, even though you don't deserve it," Macky muttered.

Noa giggled. Actually _giggled. _"Nope!"

And then his countenance changed completely. From maniacally happy to mechanically flat so quickly that Mokuba's vision blurred and he thought he must be dreaming. Macky hitched in a breath and went stiff. Next moment, before thought itself had time to catch up, the middle Kaiba whirled and sent a shining white shoe _cracking _against Macky's temple.

Watching impassively as the young teenager crumpled in the fetal position where he'd landed on the concrete, conscious but moaning piteously, Noa said, "…I'm the goddamn T-1000, motherfucker."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"…_Cousin?"_

The advent of such a primetime-sitcom moment in a thoroughly inappropriate atmosphere was nothing especially new in the Mutou household; nonetheless, the fact that Téa, Tristan, _and _Joey all shouted this at precisely the same moment caused a tic of stone-faced shock to slam itself into the air, and all time seemed to stop.

Yami ignored his three companions entirely, his gaze still locked on Malik. The young tomb-keeper had wrestled up on his feet, and was now staring just as intently back at the spirit king. Clearly there was no love lost between these two. The tension between them was palpable…and it stung. Malik, very clearly not himself, swept a regal glare across the entirety of the room, and sneered. "You seem to treat your position as a game, my predecessor." The word was slathered with enough disdain to make Kaiba proud. "As always you have."

Yami's smirk returned. "And we return to _this _song and dance. My, but you never did have much patience. And you wonder why my father called you dangerous."

"You coat your tongue with your typical flippancy, after you've already proved yourself to be inadequate!" Malik snarled. He held up the Millennium Rod as though it were a scepter. "Or does _this _not prove the point?"

"I dearly apologize, Cousin," Yami said. "Indeed, I have failed. I do not believe that holds any particular pertinence in the question of your possessing my servant. And so again, I ask you to release him." Wine-colored eyes flashed with sudden power. "Unless, of course, you wish to anger me."

Malik arched his back, gasped with a mixture of pain and relief that sounded almost sensual, then crumpled to the floor again, unconscious. A bare moment later, Rishid stumbled forward a step, then raised his head to stare at the ceiling. Slowly, he lowered his gaze to meet Yami's. "Does _that_ suffice?" he asked, his voice deeper and harsher than was usual.

"And _you _speak of flippancy," Yami muttered. "You were many things in life, Cousin. A hypocrite was not one of them. Clearly the centuries have not been kind. Tell me: why do you show yourself before me? Why do you threaten the safety of my people?"

Rishid's eyes narrowed. "You speak of servants. I seek mine."

Yami raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "Oh, but this _will _be delicious."

"Whoa-whoa-whoa," Joey said, holding up his hands. "Mind puttin' on the brakes a second, here? What the _fuck's _going on?"

"Far be it from me to infringe upon the affairs of spirits," Isis said, "but I must ask the same question: who is this man, who would possess my brothers like dolls? You cannot mean that he is…"

"Oh, indeed," Yami said. "Who else might it be?" His smirk returned. "When I met my end, the man whose spirit now inhabits your sibling took my throne. Rishid Ishtar's body is now controlled by Seti, first of his name, son of Akhenaten. Son of my esteemed uncle. Wave to the good people, Majesty. Mind your manners, now."

Rishid scowled. "My _servant_, Atemhotep."

"Are we so familiar?" Yami's smirk widened. "Did I relinquish permission for you to call me by name? My memory seems to be failing me."

"Enough of this!" Rishid shouted, retrieving the Millennium Rod from the floor and unsheathing from it the glinting blade attached to the head. "You seem so protective of your people." He brought the blade to his own throat. "Perhaps their blood will loosen your tongue?"

Yami actually laughed. "You _are _desperate! Does a mere smattering of four-thousand years unhinge you so much? Drop the blade, you idiot, I will tell you what you wish to know." Yami returned to his chair and sat down. "Sit, Seti. Sit. Miss Ishtar. Might you take up your brother and let him rest on the couch?"

She did so.

Rishid stepped closer to the dead monarch, still scowling.

"…Another pharaoh?" Téa murmured.

"Just what we fuckin' need," Joey said. "Another magical whackjob."

Yami leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and touching his fingertips together. "Now then, Seti. Since you seem so adamant, I will tell you what you wish to know. Your servant is, indeed, in this city. Blood of your blood, heart of your heart. I can direct you to , and I have every intention of doing so. But allow me to dispense some friendly advice first, for my uncle's sake: if you seek to match wills with this man, it will be your undoing. Be diplomatic, as you were so many centuries ago. Employ your honeyed tongue. Come to him in your current state, and he will destroy you."

For the first time, the spirit seemed pleased. An expression that was all too familiar visited Rishid's face. His lips curled in a savage facsimile of happiness. "Is that so…?"

"So it is," Yami said.

"What are you talking about?" Tristan asked. _"Who _are you talking about?"

"The blood of kings runs deep in this city," Yami said. "Our direct descendants have both made their lives here. You know that mine, of course, is young Yugi. Follow his lineage back far enough, and you will come to me. I am deep within the roots of his family tree. Seti is simply looking for _his _descendent. His…great-great-great-et-cetera grandson, as it were."

Rishid nodded. "Where is he?"

"West of here," Yami said. "On the outskirts of the city. Instinct will guide you there."

"Who _is _it?" Téa demanded.

"Who else would it be?" Yami asked, looking surprised.

But they all continued to stare blankly at him.

Only Isis Ishtar seemed to know. In a soft voice, she spoke for Yami:

"…Seto Kaiba."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**If you're like me, you have just one question after reading this: what was Seto smoking, that he would allow Mokuba to watch 300?**_

_**Okay, maybe not. Either way, I'm just gonna say that Mokuba figured out a way to circumvent authority on that one. He's not a perfect little angel, after all. He breaks the rules sometimes.**_

_**By the way, the three characters that make up Noa's new tattoo are katakana, one of the Japanese alphabets. They read thusly:**_

_**"Mo" – "Ku" – "Ba."**_

_**Yeah, I went there. What can I say? I'm a romantic.**_

_**I hope that you all don't mind the gratuitous movie references or the caricature of high school too much. Sometimes, reality must be stretched in order for the story to work. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.**_

_**Seti I (Sethos I), historically, was a king in the Nineteenth Dynasty, the father of Ramesses II, one of the most famous kings to ever rule Egypt; as has been mentioned before, I've tweaked history a bit to make room for Seto's ancestor. He, like Yami, takes the place of a king in the Fourth Dynasty, the Old Kingdom and the Age of the Pyramids. Where Yami's reign roughly corresponds with that of Djedefra, Seti's fits with Khafra's. The second-largest pyramid at Giza belonged to him, incidentally.**_

_**Speaking of pyramids, the Great Pyramid, also at Giza, belonged to Yami's father in this version of events. For future reference, you know.**_

_**All kings before and after these three are left as they are in our own history.**_

_**I'll see you all next time.**_

_**Take it easy.**_


	14. Sons, Daughters, and Brothers

_**If you remember, there was a little agreement between Noa and Mokuba a while back. Noa told Mokuba that he would make sure that Seto cooled off about the…issue of Malik. For a long time, I've been struggling to figure out just what argument he would use to get Seto's mind to change; I've finally hit on it.**_

_** The result is the first verse of this chapter.**_

_** The second and third verses are setting a couple of major events in motion, which will come to fruition soon. I've come to realize that I've spent 50,000+ words on this story so far, and have yet to reach the first scene of the original story on which this is based. I think this says much more about the original story than it does about this one; I skipped a lot of the usual process with "Shifting Images," and the result is that I have written a full novel-length manifesto of what I neglected before reaching the point that the "real story" can begin.**_

_** This is to say that the event that kicked off "Images," that is the introduction of Seto's Egyptian ancestor, is coming up very soon.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"I was under the apparent delusion that we were finished discussing this topic. How many more weeks must we return to it?"

If Seto had to point to one thing about the newest addition to his daily routine—perhaps the _only_ thing—that he appreciated, it was tenacity. Noa had to know better than anyone that Seto detested his presence, and was being entirely deliberate when he avoided it. But Noa wasn't about to play ball. For reasons Seto could only guess (part of him knew, but refused to admit it), he was bound and determined to…

Well…Seto wasn't sure what to call it.

Annoy him to death, perhaps.

"What point would there be to discussing anything at all if the point hasn't been made?" Noa asked, twirling his fedora on the index finger of his right hand. Seto opened his mouth, but Noa cut him off; something nobody had had the audacity to do in a number of years: "I've made the point several times, but you still refuse to accept its merit. I can tell, because it's still written on your face. Maybe Mokuba can't see it anymore, but I can. That means I'm not done. Until I've convinced you to at least _think _about this fuster-cluck with Malik Ishtar from another perspective, my efforts to now will have been for nothing. I like wasting time just as much as you do, Aniki."

"Why do you insist on calling me that?" Seto hissed.

"Why do you insist on changing the subject?" Noa shot back. "Is this the Seto-sama that's made headlines? Is this the Kaiba-shachou that's built an empire? I surely hope not. I hear tell you're known for cutting out social niceties and general bullshit when you talk to people. Yet here I sit, having experienced little _else."_

Infuriating.

Disgusting in its misplaced arrogance, eternally vexing in its insistence.

…And right.

"Fine," Seto snapped. "I will explain: I have spent a great number of years attempting to teach Mokuba that my reputation is my own concern. I don't want him feeling insulted on my behalf."

"Yes, you do," Noa replied. "It's what makes it possible for you to play the duck's-back routine in public. Knowing that Mokuba will vent _for _you lets you wash your hands of it. If he didn't do that, you'd go right back to screaming in peoples' faces, and you'd have an ulcer long before you turn thirty."

"He _shouldn't _feel insulted on my behalf."

"Shouldn't he? That's what love means, Aniki: putting someone else's needs and wants on a level with your own. If Mokuba loves anyone or anything, and I've reason to believe he loves a great many people and things, it's you. He's proud of you. You're his hero. That wouldn't count for much if he _didn't _get upset when you're treated like trash." Noa stood up, suddenly serious. "I'm going to mention something that you aren't going to want to hear. And you're going to tell me to shut up as soon as I start, and you're going to try threatening me out of the room. I'm not going to comply, so I hope you'll have the sense to resist the urge to try it."

Was _this _what it felt like to commune with an equal?

Was _this _what other people felt when _he _talked to them?

Seto didn't know.

But he leaned back in his chair and gestured dismissively. "Speak, then. Apparently I can't stop you."

"When you both were trapped in my world," Noa said, and Seto immediately felt his entire body go tense, "and I had Mokuba trapped with me in my…private sanctum, or whatever you'd like to call it, I asked him why he put up with you." Seto felt something snap inside of him, and the urge to do exactly as Noa had predicted—get the _fuck _out of my office before I rip your goddamned face off—was suddenly so overwhelming that he felt himself beginning to stand.

He forced himself to stay still.

Noa's eyes were hungry, his mouth twitching in the beginnings of an unconscious smirk, and Seto knew he was watching for just such an urge. Seto refused to let this upstart machine get one up on him. He scowled, but did not speak.

"So cold," Noa said, sounding now like he was reciting something he'd memorized from a play; his voice seemed to soften. "So impersonal, so angry. So _dangerous. _Why would you stay with someone like that, I asked him. Why not stay here with me, I asked him. _I_ wouldn't treat him like that. _I_ wouldn't hold him to such obscene standards. Why, if he just stayed with me, all he would ever have to do is…keep me company. Be my friend, be my family. Love me. Isn't that all family can ever ask from one another? Do you know what Mokuba said to me?"

There was emotion in Noa's voice now. Real emotion. Much like Yami, Seto could tell the difference in him: when Noa was faking, and he faked often, it was _too _perfect. _Too _appropriate. Whatever feelings were going through Noa right now, they were tinted with a rawness, a kind of unconscious selfishness—as though by telling this story, by imparting this information, Noa was claiming Mokuba for himself—that was…rare.

That, if nothing else, made Seto listen when he hadn't before.

For the first time in a number of weeks, Noa was being honest with him.

"He said, 'Niisama wants what's best for me. He doesn't want me to sit around, waiting for stuff to fall into my lap. He wants me to push myself. Not 'cuz he expects me to, but because he knows the world does. He doesn't want the world to hurt me, and that means I have to be strong. But I don't care how much I get hurt. I just want to help him.'"

A lightning bolt of something Seto hadn't felt in years surged through him.

Noa's eyes narrowed. "He already knows what you want. He already knows what you expect. And he tries harder than anybody has a right to tell him. There are grown adults, who've already gotten used to this fuck-hole world we live in and half-_expect _to be confronted by horrible things, who can't muster up that kind of courage once, much less how often he does it. I want you to think about something, Kaiba-shachou, and I want you to think _hard: _should anybody, no matter what age or gender or background or any other contingency, be forced to sit in the same room with someone who tried to murder them?"

Seto glared; he already hated what he was about to say, hated that he had just been backed into a corner. But he was no liar. He said, "…No."

"Should a ten-year-old boy, who has already been abducted once in his life, starved and kept in a cell and reduced to bait dangling on a string, be forced to sit in the same room with someone who tried to murder him?"

"No."

"What about a ten-year-old boy who's been abducted twice? Three times? _Four _times? Mokuba's been put into the line of fire so many times, I can't fathom how he's still sane. Do you understand me? My mind _is _a machine, Aniki; it's the way you made me. I've run through every scenario I can fathom, and _cannot _figure out how he gets up in the morning. I've read every book on mental and emotional health I can find, contemporary or otherwise, and _none _of them tell me that. But he _does_ get up in the morning, and not only that, he does it with a smile on his face and an 'I love you' on his lips. Do you realize that _every member _of that boy's family has failed him? His parents, his godparents, his adoptive parents? You? Me? Not to mention the people who have the nerve to call him _friend?"_

Seto didn't bother to be insulted. He knew that Noa was right. What else could it be called, letting Mokuba fall into danger so many times, if not failure? Seto was his guardian, his protector. People called it amazing, what he did for the boy. But in the darkest parts of him, Seto knew that Noa was right.

"He comes to you, his Niisama, his last line of defense, after being confronted with one of the most traumatizing events of his life. He comes to you after coming face-to-face with a man who, by all rights, should have gotten a lethal goddamned injection for what he did, and what do _you_ do? Look down your nose at him, and turn your back. Because of what? Because of _me?_ Because he had the audacityto forgive _one _monster but not another? How many betrayals have _you _forgiven?"

Silence. Tense, strangling silence.

"But does he falter? Does he miss a step? No. He steps up, and does what Niisama wants him to do. Even though it hurts. Even though it _should _induce nightmares. Would you do that? _I _wouldn't. Which brings me to the last thing I intend to say about this matter: by what right, exactly, do we judge _him?"_

And just like that, abruptly and without any real warning, Noa stepped back, bowed deeply, and turned on a heel.

Placing his hat upon his head, he left the room.

Seto sat there, staring at the door, stunned.

And then he laughed.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

The McKinley family was a mix of normality and eccentricity.

Which made it…perfectly normal.

Kay Mayer supposed that if she'd expected anything, after hearing what she'd heard from Renie, that they would be subdued. Friendly, and gracious enough, but quiet. Distant, maybe. But it seemed that Katie's exuberance and generally accommodating personality had been inherited, because Grace and Darren welcomed Kay to their home as if she were a long-lost relative.

There was an unspoken understanding that everyone, even her husband, was to refer to Grace using her middle name, Jennifer. Both her friends had mentioned this to Kay ahead of time, who decided she would stick to "Missus McKinley" for the time being. She was slim, of a height with her daughter, and carried a quiet sort of authority that Kay found instantly familiar. Here, Kay thought, was a wife and mother who knew precisely what she wanted out of her life, and refused to let anyone get in the way of it. Her hair was cut at her jawline, bobbed and blonde with just the barest hint of grey that might have been a trick of the light.

Jen hugged Renie like she was part of the family, right after all but smothering her own child with an enthusiasm clearly meant to embarrass. Katie accepted this attention with quiet dignity, straining to keep a straight face. Kay laughed.

She hadn't quite known what to expect from her new friend's mother; Katie didn't talk about her much. "She's a hawk," Renie had said once. "One o' those moms you watch for when you're up to no good, 'cuz she's not above calling you out in public. The old girl don't tolerate no bullshit."

Katie had simply grinned a quiet little grin, which had told Kay more than enough on the general subject, so she hadn't asked.

It seemed, however, that Katie took every opportunity to wax poetic on her father. She upheld the man's honor with a kind of ferocity Kay hadn't seen very often; if she was within earshot of anybody criticizing any form of law enforcement, regardless of the context, Kay had learned to anticipate a long, impassioned sermon.

This loyalty came to a head when the good detective, still with a coat slung over his arm, entered the house through the back door and walked into the front room. Katie launched herself at him with a cry of _"Daddy!"_ that would have been right at home on the lips of a four-year-old. Renie grinned, and Jen laughed.

"You again?" Darren asked, quirking an eyebrow. "And here I thought we were finally rid of you." He scoped the room, saw Kay, and frowned. "What'd I tell you, Jen? You keep letting them in the house, we'll end up infested." But his hazel eyes were bright, his smile genuine, and he held his daughter to him as though never intending to let go. He ruffled her hair. "How's it going, kiddo?"

"I'm all right." Katie eventually unlatched herself and gestured grandly. "The new infestation is Kay Mayer."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," Kay offered, inclining her head.

Detective McKinley was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a suit with a kind of half-casual air that suggested he wasn't fond of dressing up but had no choice; his slacks and jacket were a soft tan, his shirt and tie black. His dark brown hair was gelled and spiked, his face clean-shaven except for a patch on his chin. He was somehow both younger and older than his wife; something about those eyes, though they gleamed vibrantly, bespoke heavy, heavy hardship.

But then, he _was _a cop.

Then Kay remembered Zack, and a dark curiosity met her. Not that she was nearly tactless enough to ask. Nor was she tactless enough to allow any of this to show on her face; he seemed to notice nothing of the dark thoughts going through her mind at that moment, because he smiled broadly and held out a hand in greeting. "Pleasure's mine," he said. "Darren McKinley. Whatever they've told you about me, ignore it. They're crazy. We tried to get them on medication, but they skipped town."

Now Kay knew where Katie'd gotten her signature grin from; when father and daughter smiled, they could have passed for twins. She shook the hand offered to her. "I assure you, sir, I take everything these two tell me with a properly prescribed grain of salt."

"Then there's hope for your generation yet."

"What are you studying, Kay?" Jen asked.

"Education," Kay said. "I want to teach. Junior high or high school."

"Good for you." It didn't sound like a platitude. It sounded like real acknowledgement.

"Oh," Darren said, during a lull in the general pleasantries that come with meeting a new person, "before I forget. Because you'll _scalp_ me if I don't tell you." He reached into a back pocket and retrieved a folded sheet of paper. As he unfolded it, he assumed the stance and bearing of a medieval herald announcing a royal wedding. "There will be a _Magic & Wizards _tournament next week at KaibaLand. Tickets went on sale last month." He reached into a second pocket. "I'm on security, so I got, like, six of them."

Renie immediately snatched up the sheet of paper, read it, and _squealed_. Kay blinked, and even Katie seemed surprised. Darren, however, was completely unabashed. He was chuckling. Renie handed the paper to Katie. Her reaction was identical to her friend's; she somehow even managed the same pitch.

Kay waited patiently; she was sure she wouldn't have to wait long.

"The Kaiba Electronic Gaming Corporation," Darren announced, "is pleased to reveal that for the first time in three years, former worldwide _Magic & Wizards _champion Seto Kaiba will enter the arena, to do battle with his none other than his own heir and vice-president, Mokuba Kaiba."

Jen quirked an eyebrow.

Kay frowned curiously. "Heir?" she repeated.

Darren was grinning at her. "Since you've _spoken _to these two, they've obviously told you about our resident golden boys. Trust me, you'll want to see this. Even if you aren't interested in games, you'll want to see this."

Glancing at her friends, who were giddy with excitement, Kay's frowned deepened. "Indeed," she murmured. "Just out of curiosity, what are the odds of my staying in this city without learning how to play this game?"

"I'd sooner buy my life savings' worth of scratch tickets before taking that bet," Darren said.

"Do _you _play?"

"Not _now, _I don't," Darren said, but there was a certain distance, an edge to his voice.

Kay decided to change the subject, her thoughts on Zack again. "How long have you known Mister Kaiba?" she asked.

"Going on two years now." The detective's voice returned to normal.

"What…sort of man is he? Katie and Renie have told me a lot about him, but…sometimes I think they might be biased."

The two girls, locked in a private conversation, looked over. "What was that?" Renie asked sharply. "Biased? _I?"_

Darren shrugged. "If you go to this event, chances are you'll learn everything you need to know about him. Seto's honesty in public is one of his most grievous faults."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

There was something…different about the elder Kaibas as they came striding up to Isis Ishtar's classroom.

They were dressed like normal: Noa in a white suit, Seto in a black one. Noa wore a hat, Seto wore a trench coat; Noa wore a grin, Seto a scowl. They were mirror images, entirely opposed. And yet…the way they walked, almost like they were being controlled by a single mind, bespoke a…bond? Some recent understanding, maybe?

Isis stepped up behind Mokuba, who was grinning from ear to ear, and inclined her head as the two men approached. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said.

"Doctor Ishtar," Seto replied.

_"Sensei," _Noa offered.

"If I could speak with you privately?" Isis asked Seto, gesturing to the room.

Seto glanced at Noa, who seemed to catch the unspoken command. Seto stepped through the doorway and Isis followed, closing the door behind her. It struck Isis that this was the first time she had been face-to-face with this man in more than a year. He looked no different now than he had then, or any other time she had met with him: equal parts cold, harsh, and severe. Like the icebergs trapped in his eyes.

Isis stepped over to her desk and sat down. "This class's first research paper was turned in last week," she said. "The original assignment required five pages. I offered a compromise for your brother's sake, and told him that I would accept from him a standard five-paragraph essay. He refused."

Seto's usual smirk rose on his lips, though it was not nearly as sharp as Isis remembered.

"I've just gone over the paper he turned in. He's written about the myths of Horus and Set." She lifted it. "Have you read this?"

"I've not," Seto admitted. "What score did he receive?"

Isis chuckled, and handed the stapled sheets to Seto. Atop the title of the paper, "Order and Chaos," was a bright red 93. Seto flipped through the paper, his eyes flitting across each page. When he reached the end, he looked rather surprised, but most certainly _not _displeased.

"I'm concerned," Isis said. "How is he doing in his standard classes, Mister Kaiba? I would hate to think that he is sacrificing any of them for the sake of my own."

"I receive weekly progress reports from his instructors," Seto said dismissively. "There is no reason for concern." Or at least, he _tried_ to sound dismissive; he actually sounded quite pleased. "Your comments are quite extensive, one might even say critical, considering this score."

"Mokuba has decided to treat me like a college instructor; I intend to treat him like a college student. There are a number of things I felt necessary to mention that did not affect his score. If he has the time and inclination, I should like him to go over these comments, revise the assignment, and return it to me. For extra credit, you understand."

"Indeed," Seto said, reading through his brother's work for the second time. "Is extra credit necessary in this case?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Isis said. "He's doing quite well, actually. Better than a number of the others. But there's always room for a buffer, wouldn't you say?"

Seto nodded. "Very well."

A smile rose on the young doctor's face. "He's a gifted boy."

"Yes, he is." He walked over to the door; as he reached for the knob he said, without looking back, "Will you be assigning any homework tomorrow? I'm afraid I'll need Mokuba to attend a conference with me."

Somehow, Isis knew he was lying.

But her smile widened. "Don't worry about it. I'll work it out with him next week."

Seto glanced back at her and nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Ishtar."

"You're quite welcome."

He left, but Isis could hear the Kaibas' voices as they began talking.

Isis heard Mokuba say, _"I got a what?"_

She heard Noa laugh. _"Atta boy!"_

She heard Seto say, _"Good work, kid."_

Isis could picture the two of them, ruffling Mokuba's hair and patting his back, beaming down at him. It made her think of her own brother, and she suddenly felt guilty. It was a dark pit, that guilt, somewhere between her heart and her stomach, pulsing. Aching.

Suffocating.

"Seti…son of Akhenaten…" Isis whispered under her breath, and shuddered.

* * *

**END.**


	15. Put Your Trust in Me

_**Those of you who came to this story after reading "Shifting Images" might realize that I have spent a long, long time setting things up. This is to say that none of the chapters up to now have really covered any of the events that were covered in the original story. I think that that is an indication of just how little I set up the original story.**_

_**That being said, starting here, the plotlines of both projects will finally begin to overlap. Almost nothing is going to happen in exactly the same fashion, but I expected that to happen. But I think you will recognize this for what it is.**_

_**It's odd to think about how long I've been working on this story, how much has gone into it, to only just now reach a plot point that looks and feels familiar.**_

_**The biggest shift in development has been, most assuredly, Noa. So I say we should start with him. What do you think?**_

_**Let's begin.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

Pegasus Crawford was a man used to catching people off-guard, but more to the point he was used to being able to read people—voice, body language, choice of clothing, reactions to conversation, and pretty much anything else—to gauge how to proceed in a given situation.

Meeting Noa Kaiba, Assistant Communications Coordinator for the Kaiba Electronic Gaming Corporation, was a thoroughly off-putting, and alienating, event—simply because he could not manage to get a solid read on _any _of his usual tells.

The stark-white, stylish suit and fedora should have meant arrogance; his manner of speaking was disarmingly humble. The bright, scrutinizing eyes should have meant keen observational skills; he acted oblivious to anything and everything around him. He spoke boisterously, with animated hand gestures, which should have indicated transparency; yet Pegasus couldn't elicit a single reaction out of him that was in any way expected.

Noa was currently scrawling notes onto a legal pad. "Well, it certainly sounds like you've wasted no time getting back onto the saddle," he said, grinning amiably. "I like where your head's at, Mister Crawford. I won't lie. I was concerned at first, when you requested a private meeting with us. And I do apologize that Seto-sama wasn't able to make it. And, well, Mokuba-sama is in school right now. Can't very well pull him out of Social Studies, now, can we? Sends the wrong message."

"If I may ask," Pegasus cut in, "what is your relation to…ah…Seto-sama?"

"His esteemed father was my eldest uncle," Noa said.

"You have just now moved into the city?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is this your first time in Domino?"

"Yes, sir. It's been quite illuminating so far. And a bit intimidating. But I feel that I'm learning a lot from the experience. It was an unabashed pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. I dearly hope that we meet again." He leaned over the table and extended his hand.

Pegasus accepted the gesture and shook it, but did not let go.

A glint of gold shimmered from behind his hair. Noa blinked, looking confused.

"…I do not make a habit of meeting with people who lie to me." There was a beat of silence, wherein Noa should have been thoroughly intimidated. And Pegasus should have won whatever game they had been playing since he'd arrived. "Kaiba-boy's esteemed father was _your _esteemed father. Did you think I would fall for that story? Did you think I would not recognize your name? Your face? Kaiba's resurrected the dead. Hasn't he? _Hasn't he?"_

Noa's face went slack. "I…"

It should have been easy. Pegasus's grip on the young man's hand tightened as the fever in his visible eye heightened. "Tell me the truth. I won't…ask…again."

Then, with a blink as quick as a power outage, the mind through which Pegasus had been sifting for the past hour just—disappeared. Noa Kaiba's face had lost its amiability, lost its surprise…and its patience. The man's hand tightened like a vice, and Pegasus grunted as he felt his bones begin to scrape against each other.

"You have already made an enemy out of my brothers," Noa whispered, almost seductively, "by underestimating the relevance of their reputation. I would suggest that you not make the same mistake with me, because I am not nearly as forgiving as they are." A wide, predatory grin spread on the young executive's handsome face and made it gruesome. "You see, Crawford…unlike strong, stoic Seto and sweet little Mokuba, I am _not _a decent human being. I am a monster, same as you are. And I have little tolerance for my own kind."

He let go of Pegasus's limp hand.

"What…_are _you?"

Noa took out a kerchief and wiped off his hand. He rolled his shoulders, reached up and tipped his hat.

"…A warning."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Yami watched the staircase like there was something still waiting in the shadows, like the sharp echoes of Rishid's footfalls on the steps were hammer strikes against some cosmic anvil, and he was waiting for the forge to flare up. He sighed and fell back to a sitting position, turning his attention to Malik. He reached over and took the former tomb-keeper's smoldering hand in one of his own. "You've done well," the spirit murmured. "Your task is complete. Rest, and be assured that your trial is ended."

Malik's body visibly relaxed.

"What happens now?" Téa asked tentatively. The same question was written on every face, and they all turned to Yami for the answer. He always had the answer. They didn't have to wait for him to speak before they realized that he didn't—not this time.

"Now, we wait," he said. "Now, we do something that we have never done, yet should have long before. Now, we lay our hopes at Kaiba's feet, and pray he takes up the challenge."

"Can Seto Kaiba be trusted with such a task?" Isis posed, frowning.

"It is not a matter of trust," Yami said. He sounded offended. "Never are workings of this magnitude so simple that _we _can pass judgment upon them. Understand something, Miss Ishtar: I lived among my people as a living deity. My word was law, my wish absolute. There was never a question of my authority, throughout my years upon that throne. And I believed it. Truly, and without irony, I believed and trusted in my own divinity. In the intervening millennia between then and now, I have come to understand the truth. I am an instrument. As are we all. In asking whether we can trust Kaiba to perform this task which is to be presented to him, you do the same as wondering whether a lump of metal is worthy of becoming a sword. It is only the eye of the expert smith to decide such a thing. We are not smiths. We are lumps of metal, yet to be forged."

Isis did not seem to approve of this answer. But she did not press further.

"It is not a question of whether he _is _worthy," Yami said, "but a question of whether he can be _made _worthy. Answer me this truthfully: have you _ever _met another man with more raw potential to change the shape of this earth?"

Isis stared back at him. "You."

Yami smirked. "Yes. You all had faith in me. And I failed. Perhaps it is time to see what happens when we let the gods decide."

"Seems strange," Tristan muttered. "Gods putting faith in an atheist."

"Really?" Yami blinked. "I think that is the only thing that honestly makes sense about this situation."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Mokuba tried to forget the feelings that surged through him whenever he looked at Malik Ishtar. He tried to focus on the lessons, he tried to pay attention to the young tomb-keeper's words, instead of the nightmares that surged up into his mind when he heard the young tomb-keeper's voice. He knew that his brother was right; he knew that he _should _let go of the past.

What was it about this man that made him so angry? That made him so scared? Why didn't he feel the same when he looked at Noa? What was it about the man who shared his name that made him feel at ease when, as Seto had so rightly said, he'd done more to threaten their lives than Malik ever had?

_It wasn't Noa's fault, _came the answer. But then, by all accounts, what Malik had done hadn't been _his _fault, either. So why did he expect Malik to accept the consequences of his actions, yet not hold Noa to the same standard?

No matter how often he asked himself these questions, Mokuba couldn't figure out any answers.

After his lessons with the Ishtars were over, it was always Noa who came into the classroom. Sometimes, it was because Seto was working; sometimes, it was because Seto was waiting in the car. The eldest Kaiba only ever spoke to the Ishtars when pressed; the last time he'd spoken to Isis had only been on her specific request, and Mokuba had a feeling that the only reason he'd _heeded _that request was because it had pertained to his performance in her class.

Thus, when Noa came in one Saturday, and Malik asked if Seto happened to be around, the temperature in the room immediately dropped to freezing. Noa said, "Whether he is or isn't…around, frankly, isn't your concern." His tone dripped with menace, and a lesser man would have quailed.

"It would be greatly appreciated if you could answer my question," Malik replied with some humility. He looked tired, and nervous.

Noa looked bored. "Get your pack, Mokuba."

"I need to speak with K—with…Mister Kaiba," Malik said. "Please."

"No."

Noa turned on a heel and gestured for his brother to lead the way out of the room. It seemed that as far as he was concerned, Malik Ishtar no longer existed. Isis looked somewhat miffed, but she also looked…sheepish. The young professor turned her attention to the paperwork on her desk and did not comment.

Malik made to step in front of the Kaibas and block the door; Noa gripped him by the shoulder and tossed him aside as though he were a particularly obstinate coatrack. "Damn it, man!" Malik snapped, seeming to have lost his patience. "This is important!"

Something changed in Noa's expression. Again, he gestured. "Mokuba, go outside. I'll be out in a minute."

Mokuba looked up at his cousin and frowned. "Be nice," he said, with some reproach.

But he left the room, and the door shut smoothly behind him.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Noa turned to face Malik Ishtar with a look that could have frightened a thunderstorm.

Malik, fuming, stared right back at him. "Quit playing games," he snarled. "Do you think I'd even _ask _if it wasn't—"

"Let me speak plainly, Ishtar," Noa cut him off, like he hadn't spoken at all. "It surprises me to the point of being insulted that you are still alive. Never mind my family's name and reputation. Disregard your sheer _stupid _arrogance of thinking you had the intelligence _or _the cunning to outwit a Kaiba, to say nothing of both. Your 'empire' may have been a fun little diversion while you cried out for attention. Your 'Ghouls' may have let you _feel_ powerful. To those of us with real power, you're about as relevant as a fucking _gnat. _I'd suggest you learn your place before you go around demanding audiences with people too far out of your league. You might get your feelings hurt."

Malik's teeth clenched, and he looked ready to start throwing punches. Isis stood from her desk. "I must ask that you refrain from making threats in my classroom," she said coldly.

Noa turned to look at her, distantly curious. "Do you know? I'm getting rather tired of the both of you." He leaned back a bit, as though taking in the entire scene before him and finding it distasteful. "Your brother, Rishid, seems to be the only one out of the three of you who understands the gravity of what you did. What you _all _did. Your brother is the only one who _lowers his eyes _in front of Mokuba and Seto both. The two of _you, _though. You seem to think that all is forgiven, and you have the right to hold your heads high and pull your shoulders back. Look at us, you say to the world. We're free now. We've gained our independence, and we've taken control of our lives. We're proud, and we _should _be proud. But the funny part is…a member of my family still has nightmares because of you."

"As much as I regret my part in bringing young Mokuba to harm," Isis said slowly, "the past cannot be changed. I cannot take back what I have done any more than I can ignore it. Allowing my past mistakes to rule me does no one any service."

"I don't think you understand what I'm telling you," Noa said icily. His eyes were like metal plates. "In regard to whatever psychological double-talk you use to help yourself sleep at night, not a single flying _fuck _do I give. You hurt someone I love. There's no _coming back _from that. There's no _penance. _So go ahead and pretend you have the right to speak to Seto Kaiba. Pretend you have the right to look Mokuba in the eye. It doesn't change the truth."

Noa adjusted his hat, turned on a heel, and left.

Isis watched the door long after he'd gone.

Eventually, she said, "…I don't know if I'll ever understand how that child manages to instill such honest devotion in such dangerous people."

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

"Mister Kaiba."

Seto Kaiba did not forget a voice. In his line of work, it was the peak of dangerous stupidity to forget people. He could not afford the arrogance of pretending he was invincible anymore. He had been proven wrong too many times. Contrary to what Yugi Mutou or his friends might have believed of him, Seto had long since accepted a great number of truths into his personal view of the world; truths upon which he would have spat not too long ago.

So yes. He knew the voice of Malik Ishtar. Immediately on his guard, Seto turned to face the Egyptian youth who had caused him such a headache lately, wondering what Malik thought he might accomplish by ambushing Kaiba-Corp's CEO in its own parking lot.

"Your cousin has made it clear to me," Malik said, an unreadable expression on his face and a strange fire in his eyes, "that I am…not permitted to speak with you."

For a moment, Seto didn't know what Malik was talking about. Then he remembered Noa's cover story, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yet you are here," the eldest Kaiba intoned. "Apparently you put little stock in Noa's authority. I suppose I should respect you for that."

Malik chuckled, spasmodically, but a look of immense discomfort sent a shock through him, and he shivered. Seto thought he looked guilty. The former tomb-guardian cleared his throat, drew in a deep breath, and reached behind his back.

"I'm sorry," he said. "A spirit far beyond my power to quell commands this."

With a speed that defied imagining, Malik's arm snatched out, and he pressed something into Seto's hand. A sudden, biting, smoldering pain shot up Seto's entire body, and for one delirious flash he thought he'd been stabbed.

He looked down, and saw a gleam of angry gold staring up at him, before his head start swimming and the world went black.

By the time Seto crumpled, unconscious, to the concrete, Malik Ishtar was gone.


	16. The Thing that Should Not Be

_**In most of my stories, the character of Darren McKinley is pivotal. If he's a part of a story at all (he makes no appearance in "Cemetery Dance," for example), he's a big part. This time around, I seem to be focusing more on his daughter. Katie has always been my answer to the "fangirl" demographic. So many people in canon seem less than enthused with Seto, and I wanted to have someone in my stories who fell outside of that mold—someone who wasn't Mokuba.**_

_**Katie has become less of a statement and more of a person in this story, and I'm both excited and grateful for that. I don't like one-dimensional characters. I like my people to be rounded, and real.**_

_**Let's see what she's up to, shall we?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

Katie and Renie took Kay out for a tour of Domino City.

Kay Mayer was, of course, no stranger to big cities; travel was nothing new to her; nonetheless, she'd never been on a tour quite like this. They showed her comic shops, and arcades, and amusement parks. It turned out that Renie hadn't been lying when she called her home the Mecca of card games; she saw advertisements plastered on nearly every shop window they passed; ads for _Magic & Wizards _were particularly numerous, but it wasn't the only game; she also saw _Capsule Monster Chess, _and _Dungeon Dice Monsters, _and _Pokémon, _and _Fullmetal Alchemist; _one poster in particular—advertising a game, adapted from a Japanese RPG, called _Triple Triad_—sent Katie into near-hysterics, and they had to stop.

Katie often played the straight man, so to speak, in her relationship with her best friend; nonetheless, it was somehow especially gratifying to see _her_ geek out. She came out of the shop with a booster box and a grin that reached her ears. Renie, for her part, was doing her best to keep a calm façade. Kay could see, though, that there was recognition, and something resembling hunger, in her eyes.

Kay wasn't necessarily _opposed _to her new friends' hobbies; nonetheless, she felt like an outsider. She'd never really played videogames, or read comic books, or any of the things that Katie and Renie seemed to "fangirl" over. A compulsive desire to join in, to initiate herself, came over her whenever she saw the two of them discuss their culture. Kay knew that a part of it was just their excitable natures; they could have made grocery lists seem exciting.

But when Kay thought back, and tried to pinpoint the last time she'd had _fun, _in the way that Katie and Renie so often did, she couldn't think of it. She tried to think of the last time she'd laughed, and joked, and _played, _with a friend; and couldn't do it.

So when Katie slipped back into the car and pointed back at Kay, saying, "You are _going _to learn this one," Kay didn't feel out of sorts. In fact…she was rather excited.

Their last stop for the day, sometime around four o'clock or so, was a place called the Turtle Game Shop. It was a hole-in-the-wall sort of establishment, and an elderly man was out front, sweeping the walkway leading up to the front entrance. He looked up as the trio approached. "Ah!" he said, putting on a wide grin. "Miss Eubank! Miss McKinley! How nice to see you again!"

"How are you doing, Mister Mutou?" Katie asked with a bow.

Renie gave a jaunty little salute, and Kay waved; because she wasn't sure what else to do.

"We're making the rounds," Renie said, "showing our new blood, here, what Domino's about. Wouldn't be a proper introduction without the turtle. Eh?"

Mister Mutou, who had the wildest shock of dark gray hair Kay had ever seen, gave a laugh fit for Santa Claus. He was short, and rather husky, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that said he wasn't done yet—not by a long shot. Laugh lines crinkled out from his eyes, and a grin seemed to be the natural set of his mouth. He bowed with a flourish and gestured toward the entrance. "Ladies, you flatter me. Go right on inside."

Kay was used to paying close attention to what people said when they thought others weren't listening, and she caught the threads of a rather heated discussion taking place as they approached the front door.

"…fucking _stupid? _I'm not sayin' I don't believe you, but—_Jesus!"_

"It had to be done. Do you honestly think Kaiba would have accepted it as a gift?"

"Yami, _Kaiba _ain't the problem this time! You know as well as I do, Noa's a fuckin' _mental case! _Maybe he don't give a shit about Kaiba, but Mokuba's got him on a pretty damn short leash! If he—"

"Silence."

The three young women entered the shop.

It was a small shop, as Kay had anticipated. But, even though she had no clue about most of the merchandise for sale here, she could tell that this place was well-stocked. The sheer variety stacked into this tiny store was mind-boggling.

Kay saw the two men who must have been the speakers: one was blond, well-built, tall. He was dressed in dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket over a button-down crimson shirt. He held a broom in his hands like he intended to use it as a weapon.

The other, who was standing behind the counter, must have been related in some way to Mister Mutou; his hair was nearly identical to the old man's, except his was three colors; black, with bright purple tips, offset by bright blond bangs. He was also dressed in jeans; along with his tight, sleeveless black shirt and multitude of bracelets, and the giant golden pyramid hanging from his neck by a thick chain, he looked every bit like he belonged at an _Avenged Sevenfold _concert.

And yet, as Kay's gaze fell dead-center onto his wine-colored eyes, she felt an absurd—but powerful—urge to fall to her knees before him.

Both were watching their newest customers. The blond man put on a welcoming grin; the _other _looked surprised. "Hey-hey!" crowed the blond man, setting aside his broom. "If it ain't Ren 'n Stimpy!"

"Asshole," Katie said, but she was grinning.

"_Ee-_diot," Renie offered, which made the blond man laugh.

"Who'sa newbie?" he asked, gesturing with his eyes to Kay.

"Kay Mayer," Renie said, and Kay lifted a hand in greeting.

The blond man held out a hand of his own. "Joey Wheeler."

Kay shook it. "Pleased to meet you." Then she frowned. "I…I've heard your name before."

"Second-placed the Duelist Kingdom Tournament held by Pegasus Crawford in 2004," Renie reeled off. "Kidnapping, extortion, attempted murder, corporate espionage." She ticked her fingers. "Your dad made a statement, early 2005, calling out how irresponsible it was that it came down to a bunch of kids to fix the cluster-fuck of felonies committed on that island. Allegedly."

Recognition sparked in Kay's eyes as Joey stared, bewildered, at Renie.

"Oh, yeah," Katie said. "I remember that speech. People were hung up on the federal government getting involved in private businesses."

The _other _had rounded the counter and was slowly approaching. His expression was unreadable, his eyes unfathomable, and Kay turned her attention back to him. She was immediately riveted, like before. Joey glanced over as the _other _stepped up beside him. "The hell, Yugi? Got a crush 'r somethin'? Gotcher Creeper Face on."

"Uh-oh," Katie said. "Hear that, Kay? You have a _fan."_

"…Huh?"

Too quickly for anyone to react, Yugi reached out and pulled Kay to him in a crushing embrace. Kay was several inches taller than he was, so she ended up in a half-crouch as he held her head to his shoulder, sounding like he was half-laughing, half-crying.

He said, "Kisara. Dear one. Welcome home."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

The room was long, and lit by candles set in regular intervals on a table swathed with a red tablecloth. A feast fit for kings sat upon the table, and a man sat at the head of it. As Seto stepped gingerly into the long room and forced his mind to work, the man glanced up at him.

The man was dressed all in white, and for one stupid moment Seto thought the man was Noa. But no. No, this man had a much darker complexion than Noa did; not to mention, he could tell at a glance that there wasn't a single drop of Japanese blood running through this man's veins.

The man in white gestured invitingly. "Sit," he said, and his accent was as thick as it was unrecognizable. Seto blinked, feeling suddenly dizzy. "We have much to discuss, you and I."

He realized that the man in white's gold-edged plate was bare.

Seto eventually sat, because his legs would no longer tolerate his weight. He blinked again, forced his blurring vision to clear. He focused, mind and body, upon a loose crimson thread. The man in white spoke again: "You are confused. Your mind is clouded." Seto turned and watched as the man in white lifted a hand. He made a strange gesture, and suddenly everything was clear. Seto could see, he could think, and he felt as though he were an inhabitant in his own body again. "Is that better?"

Seto scowled and said, "What are you?"

The man in white smirked. "I am a man."

"Don't play games with me. I'm lying on the concrete in my own parking lot. I can _feel _it." He lifted one arm, glanced at it, and then back to the man in white. "Which means this is mental. Evidently you have control over this hallucination, which means you are _not _a man. Or, if we're playing a semantics game, you aren't _just _a man. So, I will ask again: what are you?"

The man in white chuckled, glanced off to the side. "I see that my cousin was right about you…" he whispered beneath his breath. He turned his attention back to Seto; he had eyes the color of icebergs. "Very well, Seto. If I may call you Seto."

The eldest Kaiba brother grimaced, and did not speak.

"I am Seti," the man in white said. "I serve the gods. I am…a spirit. I believe that my body currently rests—" Here he cut off, made another upward glance, and said, halfway between intrigued and offended, "—in an exhibit at a Cairo museum." He turned back to Seto. "A husk, unfortunately. Our supposedly illustrious methods of preservation seem to have fallen rather woefully short. I must…rectify that problem. In the interim, I inhabit the golden artifact in your hand."

Seto glanced down at his right hand; he was holding a gold-plated knife.

Seti chuckled again. "Rather an active imagination, you have. I pieced this together before you arrived." The spirit leaned forward. "So. I have a number of questions for you, Seto. Might you indulge me?"

"I might," Seto replied flatly, setting the knife down.

Seti's smile was rapacious. "Glorious."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

It was so mystifying that nobody remembered to be offended.

It was a good thing that, apparently, Yugi was not a particularly "physical" person, because he relinquished Kay Mayer quickly, and literally _bounced _backward on the balls of his feet, holding out his arms like a man for the cross, laughter in his voice and a song in his eyes. He looked over at Joey as though expecting him to share in the jubilation, but Joey simply stared at him.

This didn't seem to bother the man, who looked as giddy as a child after his first ride on a roller coaster. "Everything is lining up. _Everything!" _It seemed as though he couldn't quite figure out if Kay actually existed or not; perhaps he didn't trust his senses.

Kay was wearing her best politician's-daughter face, trying to work out what her reaction should be. Finally, she decided on the one that bothered her the most, if only because she couldn't figure it out. She said, "…How do you know that name?"

Yugi blinked, raised an eyebrow. "Whatever _else _would I call you, my dear? That _is _your name, is it not?"

"That isn't public," Kay said, sharper than she intended. "Not even my school records use that name. The only place you could have _possibly_ read that is my birth certificate. Who are you?"

Yugi looked thoughtful. Then his effervescence came back, he grinned, and he bowed with a flourish. "Yugi Mutou, King of Games, at your service. I think, dear one, that a great number of people in my fair city of Domino will know you by that name. Joey. Don't be a stranger. Tell me: does she not look familiar?"

"Uh…duh?" Joey rolled his eyes. "Kay Mayer. Sully Mayer's daughter. Been on the news a few times for charity work. You're a volunteer literacy tutor, right?"

Kay nodded. "I am." Then she half-chuckled, perhaps as a way to hide how thoroughly uncomfortable the…King of Games made her feel. She would later discover that this was common. "Forgive my saying so, but you don't look the type to follow politics from clear across the country."

Joey gave a lopsided smile that was disarmingly charming. "I'm fulla surprises. Actually, that speech Renie talked about, that's the one caught my eye. Wondered how the news'd handle that whole fiasco, y'know? Not too many people talked about it. Yer dad was one of the only…ah…upper echelon types who spoke up."

"No, no, no-no-no." Yugi shook his head emphatically and gave a dismissive huff. "Dig _deeper, _Joey. Think further back. Think of the desert, man. Think of temples and tablets. Doesn't she look…_familiar?"_

Joey grimaced, clearly confused, but eyed Kay more closely, making her feel self-conscious. Kay ignored it. Then realization dawned on the blond's face, and he put a hand unconsciously to his mouth. "Holy _shit," _he murmured.

Yugi chuckled. "Precisely. Now…tell me this isn't a sign. Come now. You know better than to trust in coincidences."

"It…might be. Fuck me, but it might be."

"Uh, 'scuze me?" Renie held up a hand. "Mind filling in the rest of the class? Both o' y'all are acting kinda freakish."

"Tell me…Kay." Yugi turned back to the counter and began sifting through various boxes. "Have you ever heard of the game, _Magic & Wizards?"_

"I couldn't associate with these two and _not _hear of it," Kay replied. "But until a few weeks ago, no."

"Have you noticed any of the posters around the city so far? On the windows of shops, billboards, things like that? Do any of the characters look familiar to you?"

"Not really, no. Seems like standard, anime-style stuff to me."

Yugi chuckled. He seemed to find what he'd been looking for. He gestured. "Come here, come here. Don't be shy. I know I might seem creepy, but I'm harmless. I promise." He set a small, worn-down little lockbox onto the counter. "Look at this."

He opened the box with a tiny key he slipped from a pocket, and produced a card.

"That's…your grandpa's card!" Joey said. "Kaiba ripped that fucker in half! How'd you get it restored?"

Yugi's smirk was all the answer he intended to give.

He handed the card to Kay. "Now tell me…does _that _look familiar?"

Kay glanced, skeptically, at the card.

She screamed.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

It was rare for Noa to be serious. Part of the mask he preferred to wear in public—and often, in private—involved a manic level of exultation. He much preferred to smile than to frown; it kept people off their guard and unassuming, and helped him to maintain a certain…distance.

For some reason that Noa didn't think he would ever understand, people trusted smiles; and all too often, they never took the time to look past one of them. They just assumed that someone who could smile _must _be sane.

Crazy people don't smile. Dangerous people don't smile.

Right?

But on the evening after his meeting with Pegasus Crawford, Noa stepped onto the Kaiba Estate looking murderous. Even Mokuba would have felt intimidated if he'd run into his adopted brother like this. The house staff, going about their usual business, gave him a wide birth without question as he swept past them. They were used to it, after all. Kaiba-shachou wore such an expression on a daily basis. Why should his cousin be any different?

Noa stalked the hallways straight up to his elder's private office. There was the slightest of blips in his stride as he passed Mokuba's room; the door was closed, but he could hear the black-haired boy's voice; he was probably talking to a friend, or a fan; it could even be that he was on a conference call with one of Kaiba-Corp's employees.

The middle Kaiba quickened his stride.

Seto's office was lit, but Noa didn't hear the usual spider-skittering of the man's keyboard. Neither did he hear the eldest Kaiba's voice. Not even the scratching of a pen or pencil. Noa was not prone to superstition by any estimation, but nonetheless he felt a shudder of apprehension run down his spine as he crossed the threshold.

But he was a Kaiba, and so he ignored it. He didn't see Seto in the office, but finally heard something in the adjoining bedchamber. Noa strode quickly across the floor, through the open doorway, and finally found the object of his search. He began speaking before his eyes registered what it was he was actually looking at: "Crawford hasn't benefited from his extended nap. He has his trinket back, and with it his bravado. I'll use whatever power my position gives me to keep him away from you and Mokuba, but you'll need to flex a bit as well if he decides he wants his wife back again. He knows what you did to bring me back. He thinks you'll be able to do the same for her."

It was supposed to be a simple message; Noa, like Seto, didn't believe in small-talk. He had intended to enter the room, deliver his message, wait for a moment to see if his adoptive sibling had anything to say in response, then leave. That should have been the end of it, and he was halfway through turning around before he realized something was wrong.

People often talked about Seto as though he were royalty; either they were speaking sardonically, referring to his arrogant, entitled persona, or else they were speaking literally and referring to his clout. Indeed, Noa had heard plenty of people refer to Mokuba as the Crown Prince of the West Coast, which left nothing to the imagination in regard to who was king. Nonetheless, the closest Seto had ever come to _dressing _like royalty had been the royal purple trench coat he had taken to wearing sometime after his Battle City tournament had ended.

As Seto turned to face his synthetic twin, Noa finally took in the man's appearance. Seto was dressed in a gold-trimmed white suit, not unlike the outfit Noa had liked to wear in his virtual playground—minus the shorts and the brown loafers; Seto had opted for white slacks (again, embroidered with gold at the hem) and shining white boots. And instead of his usual trench coat, he was wearing a scarlet robe that draped over his lean frame like a cloak.

Noa had wondered off and on for a while if machines like himself could feel fear. That question was answered for him when he saw the smile on Seto Kaiba's face, and the deadly gleam in his eyes—eyes as light as the sky in summer and as dry as a desert breeze.

He was holding a glowing golden rod in his right hand.

"You said something about a trinket. By chance, are you referring to his left eye?"

The voice came from Seto's lips, but the accent was foreign; like everything else.

Noa closed his eyes and grimaced.

"…God _fuck _it."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Some of you have already guessed, but here it's laid out: yes. Kay Mayer is Kisara, the white-haired vessel of the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. And yes, this will prove to be important as we move forward. If you can believe it, I'm still in the planning stages of this story. I'm still setting up the game board, as it were.**_

_**In the first chapter, I called this story my personal mythology. I wasn't kidding. This one will be a long journey. Will it be as long as "Shifting Images"? I wouldn't rule out the possibility that it will be longer. But we'll just have to see, won't we?**_

_**It's not just Kisara who lifts her head and introduces herself this time. Seti also makes his first…real appearance. For those of you who have watched the Season Zero anime, or read the original manga, you probably know exactly what Seto looks like in that getup. And you can probably guess that this particular arrangement won't end well.**_

_**I've heard a rumor—shhh, don't tell anyone—that Seto is a bit of a control freak.**_

_**By the way, for those who don't know: Triple Triad is a collectible card mini-game featured in the Squaresoft (now Square Enix) RPG, Final Fantasy VIII.**_


	17. Solitaire Unraveling

_**Not too much to say about this one, except that the fire's starting. Also, bit of a warning. Verse Two contains some particularly…colorful language from your friendly neighborhood sociopath.**_

_**Seems that when Noa gets emotional, he also gets…vulgar.**_

_**Who knew?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"Kay? _Kay?!_ Are you all right? What's the matter?"

Something about Yugi's entire demeanor just…_changed. _He rounded the counter slowly, and bent down to pick up the card from the floor where Kay had dropped it. The white-haired young woman was still breathing harshly, but it was clear that most of the shock had passed. She studied Yugi's face like she was searching for something she couldn't find.

Yugi offered a self-conscious little smile. "Sorry about that," he said. "It's complicated. Would you like to sit down for a moment?"

"Yes…yes, I would." Kay collected herself and waited as Joey stepped over to one corner of the shop and took down a card table, which he unfolded and set into the center of the floor. He took a number of folding chairs as well. When he'd situated everything, he pulled one chair out and gestured for Kay to sit.

"Word online," Renie said, looking strangely serious, "is that your, ah…personality shift in the arena isn't just some act. People think you've seriously got multiple personalities. Was that…uh…_him?"_

Yugi chuckled as he sat down. "For lack of a more politically correct way of saying it…yes. It was. We call him Yami. I'm sorry, Miss Mayer. Sometimes he forgets that other people take 'personal space' rather seriously."

"You talk about a serious mental illness like it's a precocious puppy," Kay said, sounding like she didn't _want_ to be offended.

Yugi shrugged. "I guess so. It's more complicated than that. Kaiba would agree with you, though. With your sentiment and your apparent discomfort with it." Kay suddenly looked guilty, but Yugi waved it away. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. It'll make sense eventually. I'm guessing that you're here to visit. Here in the city, I mean."

"Yes. I am."

"Don't be surprised if you end up coming back. This place is kind of a black hole."

"You mentioned Kaiba. Seto Kaiba? Do you know him, too?"

"I do. Quite well. Better than most people, I'd say. Not that that's saying much."

Kay looked curious. "Friend of yours?"

Yugi laughed. "Much as I'd like to think so…no."

"Mokuba hangs out around here," Joey put in. _"He's _the friend. Butcha don't get one Kaiba without the other. They're a package deal."

"Wouldn't peg the two of you as the sort to make friends with kids," Kay said.

Yugi thought a moment, then said, "Remember that line in the first _Harry Potter _book about there being some things you just can't go through without learning to like each other?"

"Yes…?"

"Us 'n Mokuba," Joey put in, "we ain't fought a troll, but we've been through some…uh…_contingencies. _Is that the right word? Damn it, I bet it isn't. They're long stories, and I dunno if Mokuba'd want us tellin' 'em."

"The short of it is," Yugi added, and Kay realized rather quickly that these two thought on pretty much the _exact _same wavelength, "we've had some adventures. Mokuba used it as an excuse to get to know us. Kaiba used it as an excuse to ignore our existence."

"Sounds like a charmer." Kay sent a sardonic glance Katie's way.

"He _can _be," Yugi said, placating. "He's just…selective. Extremely selective. Who knows? If you get a chance to meet him, you might get his good side."

"How many people have gotten his good side?"

"Uh…six?"

"Makin' our boy look bad," Renie said, kicking her feet up and assuming the air of a Mafioso. "Now, children, you don't want us _comin' down _on you…do ya?"

"Bring it, sister," Joey said. "You might got an inside shot at the _upper tiers _of society, but Yugi 'n me? We got _street cred."_ The two friends bumped fists. "Yeah."

Yugi glanced back at Kay. "Have we frightened you away yet?"

"Not on your life," Kay said, grinning. "This trip is turning out to be an…extra-curricular activity."

Yugi chuckled, but she could spy something remarkably like fear somewhere in the backs of his eyes. Like he knew something she didn't.

Which, she thought upon further reflection, he probably did.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

The next day, Seto Kaiba woke from a remarkably restful sleep with no clear recollection of…well, anything. His eyes opened and focused on the ceiling of his bedroom, and he felt more awake than he had in weeks. He felt _better _than he had in weeks. He slipped out of bed and immediately into a shower.

When he'd shaved, combed his hair, and dressed himself, Seto stepped into the hall and strode down toward the stairs. If he'd been thinking normally, he might have been worried—even offended—that he couldn't rightly remember what he'd done the previous afternoon (or evening). But he felt at peace with himself, at peace with the world, for the first time in…

His life.

He found his brothers in the game room. Mokuba was playing a racing game—his favorite genre—while Noa watched studiously nearby. He noticed Seto's presence almost immediately, and Seto got his first impression that something was wrong. A spark of outright terror lit in Noa's light blue eyes, but was masked immediately by his usual exuberance.

"Heya, Aniki," the middle Kaiba offered, _too _casually.

Mokuba turned to glance over his shoulder. "Hi, Niisama. Are you feeling better? Noa said you went to bed early last night."

Seto's brow creased. "Yes, Mokuba. I'm fine."

"You should do that more often," the black-haired boy mused.

"Mm."

Noa stood up. "Aniki. Sorry to _infringe, _but I've got something I need to go over with you. Mind takin' a stroll with me down to my facility?"

Mokuba pouted, but didn't say anything. Seto nodded.

They left the room, and walked almost leisurely toward Noa's private sanctuary. They rounded a corner, and Noa whirled, pinning Seto to the wall with surprising, frightening, strength. "What. The _fuck?"_

Seto stared at the man blankly. "Let go of me."

"Not on your life! Not until you tell me what the _fuck _happened to you yesterday!"

"I have no idea what you're insinuating. Let _go _of me, Noa. _Now."_

Seto had never seen anything like the panic rising in the middle Kaiba's eyes like cresting waves in a glacial typhoon. "You listen to me and you listen good, you stupid son of a _bitch! _You don't like me. Probably you fucking _hate _me. Fine. Whatever. Go ahead. But don't you _dare _give me orders right now. You hear me? _I want an answer, goddamn it!"_

It was on Seto's lips to tell the impudent cyborg off. Every instinct in him screamed that this was going too far, and it was time to lay down the proverbial law. But there was something about Noa's earnestness—his raw, naked _terror_—that gave the eldest Kaiba pause. So instead, he said: "…What happened yesterday?"

Noa blinked, and his grip on Seto slackened. "I…you…don't remember. Of course you don't _fucking _remember. When was the last time you lost a day, Aniki? Think back. Has there _ever _been a time in your life that you've _ever _lost track of where you were and what you were doing?"

It was like a steel rod crashed into Seto's skull and split his brain in half. Sudden, stark horror froze his mind as he realized—not that he'd ever truly forgotten—that the answer was no. And that whatever euphoric haze he'd woken up feeling had made him forget how _wrong _that was.

"He gave you the rod, didn't he?" Noa guessed, finally letting his elder go and stepping back. "That stupid _twat _gave you the Millennium Rod."

Another shock went through Seto's body, and like a man in a dream he reached under his coat and pulled something out from where he'd tucked it, up against the small of his back. Taking the mysterious object in a fist that wanted desperately to tremble, Seto looked down at it and almost didn't see what he knew was there.

It _was. _The Millennium Rod.

"You know how Mutou gets that boost of confidence like a damn booster shot from hell, right before he steps into an arena? How his fucking _voice _changes? How he gets _taller? _Don't lie to me, Aniki. You know it's not a mental disorder. Something in that puzzle he keeps chained to his neck is _alive. _Or…at least, it _exists. _And we both know _that's _what comes out when he's in danger. We both know _that's _the man we both faced, and to whom we both lost so goddamn spectacularly."

Seto was listening, but only cursorily. His mind was too busy scrambling to repair itself.

His eyes kept drifting almost magnetically to the gleaming gold in his hand.

Noa gripped Seto by the shoulders and shook him, hard. _"Look at me! _Whatever the hell that thing is—what's he call it, Yami? There's another one in that gaudy piece of desert-glitter you keep staring at! Someone, or _something, _has the capacity to take over your body! Put your mind to sleep! It's _stealing _the one thing you've always lusted after like a junky for fucking heroin! _Control."_

Seto was not one for hyperventilating, but he could feel his breath hitching in his throat. Everything he had ever known, everything he'd ever been taught, was rearing up to fight off the accusations Noa was flinging at him; but some deep, secret part of him—growing and reaching through his veins like a disease—knew the man with the sandy hair and the ice-colored eyes was telling the truth.

"Sure, okay, Yami acts like Mutou's own private Jiminy Cricket half the time, but he's still _bitch-nut crazy. _There's a little kid down the hall relying on you to _keep your shit. _So you need to do something about this. _Now. _I really don't care how you do it. Snort mood stabilizers. Gargle moonshine. Dig scars into your skin like a motherfucking _Batman _villain. Just _do it. _Before I wind up having to do it for you."

Noa let him go, turned around, and stalked down the hall.

Seto was left staring at the rod in his hand, the tatters of his first good mood in years flitting around his head like so many gnats.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Duke Devlin often found himself falling victim to routine, and he didn't like it. Wake up, go to class, go to work, go home, sleep. Wake up, go to class, go to work, go home, sleep. _God. _Talk about insufferable. That was probably why he never made plans for those sparse few days he was able to take off.

His professors always said, at the beginning of the semester, that he had three days out of the fifteen weeks when nobody would question his absence. Past that, it affected his grade. He usually spaced those out like Xanax, making absolutely sure that he didn't fall into the habit of relying on them and only taking them when the pressure got to the point that putting on a mask and climbing up Holmes Tower with questionable intentions started sounding like a decent way to let off steam.

It happened more often than he would have liked to admit.

Sure, he played it cool and confident. Part of his _image. _He was a savvy sort of businessman (or so he liked to tell himself), and he knew how important image was. He'd cultivated a persona so engrained that he often wore tight jeans and sleeveless shirts to quarterly meetings, because that's just what he _did. _He supposed, in retrospect, that that was one thing he appreciated about working with the Kaiba Corporation, instead of Industrial Illusions.

Pegasus Crawford was pretty open-minded, but he had a traditionalist's sense of tact.

Duke could wear a bright pink leotard, and Seto Kaiba wouldn't care so long as his affairs were in order. Perhaps that was a product of his youth? Sure, Pegasus wasn't much older than the two of them, but he had the proverbial old soul. He'd grown up in an old-fashioned house, with old-fashioned views.

The proprietor of the Black Crown and inventor of _Dungeon Dice Monsters _strolled leisurely along a randomly-selected side-street on a randomly-selected afternoon, his cell phone turned off for once, soaking in the glory of boredom. Could he have been doing something productive? Certainly. _Should _he have been doing something productive? Probably.

Did he _intend_ to do something productive? Nope.

Duke was humming a random tune, swinging his arms far too dramatically and was about one misplaced step away from dancing, letting his brain fill itself with blissful, cotton-candy _nothingness, _and generally just falling in love with the world. He supposed this was what previous generations called having a free spirit.

Was he a hippy now? Is that what was happening?

He _did _have a certain fondness for tie-dyed shirts.

Duke rounded a corner into an alley, and found Ryou Bakura lying facedown in the dirt, his legs tangled in an upturned bicycle.

For a moment Duke's eyes went blurry, and his mind followed, and he couldn't figure out what he was looking at. The moment passed, and he stumbled forward. "Ryou! Hey! Oh, Jesus, man, have you been—what, jousting with a lawnmower?"

The white-haired boy—Duke knew that Ryou wasn't any younger than he was, but he was short, and thin, and unassuming, and otherwise just plain _vulnerable—_was in bad shape. His shirt was streaked with dust and grass stains; his jeans were tattered at the knees, which were rubbed raw and bleeding.

He was unconscious.

No head wound, though, thank Heaven for condolence-prize favors. His breathing was okay. In fact, he seemed to be sleeping rather peacefully. Duke didn't know Ryou Bakura very well, but he knew enough. He'd been struggling with depression (or was it bipolar disorder?) for years, and had a propensity for vanishing off the face of the earth for weeks at a time. He lived alone, had been for the past few years, and was often found haunting the library.

Some part of Duke felt betrayed that this would happen on his first day off in two months, but he pushed that away. So maybe this kid wasn't his bestest buddy in the whole wide world; it didn't matter. He was a good enough guy, really, and Duke didn't like to think of himself as a tool-bag. So he extricated Ryou from his two-wheeled death trap and laid him out flat.

Then he fished his phone out of a pocket, turned it on, and punched in a number.

"…_Double-D. Thought you might'a died. How's tricks?"_

"I told you not to call me that," Duke muttered. "Got a situation here. Grab my keys from the break-room and drive my car down to Olive and Soring. Clear out the backseat."

"_Something up? You okay, man?"_

"…I don't know yet," Duke said, as Ryou's eyes slid slowly, slowly open.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Does this count as a cliffhanger?**_

_**I guess it does now.**_

_**See you next time, folks.**_


	18. Pass the Torch Over a Fire

_**This chapter is ridiculous. There is no clearer way to put it. But I had more fun writing it than I have in a long time, and I figure that counts for a lot.**_

_**Since the last time I worked on this project, my grandmother died, I began my last semester as an undergraduate—I'm set to graduate **_**magna cum laude**_** from my university, so I thank you preemptively for your patience—I bought a new computer, started a new blog, re-watched half of **_**Fairy Tail, **_**sent my first piece of original fiction to a paying publication, and ended a 22-month internship with my congressman. In short, shit be cray-cray up in this bitch.**_

_**Yeah. I'm street.**_

_**This particular chapter marks a first in my work with the YGO universe. For the first time in ten years, I tried my hand at describing a duel. Now, if you're anything like me, your first impulse upon hearing this will be to click the back button and (maybe) wait for the next chapter. I don't blame you for this. I've always thought that recreating the card game in fanfiction form was a disservice to the medium. There are so many duels in canon, what could a fanfiction author possibly offer to augment that?**_

_**I beg patience, as this particular duel is handled in what I hope is a painless, entertaining fashion. I'm not going to bog you down with rules and twists in logic. I tried to make the scene as cinematic as it should be, such that everything moves quickly and easily, because I'm not in the business of boring people.**_

_**Hopefully.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

The auditorium into which Kay was ushered by her new friends, with reverent gusto, was the sort of place where she might have expected an indoor concert to be held. The bleachers rose up like the sweeping walls of the Colosseum, and the lighting caused the shadows of the incoming audience to dance and shimmer around them, leaving Kay feeling like she'd stepped into another world.

When she, Renie, and Katie had all sat down, there was an indescribable sense that she shouldn't break the spell woven over the place with her voice. She sat somberly, like she was in some sort of church, and waited for cues from her companions on how she should be acting. There was something intoxicating about the energy that flowed through the crowd; Kay realized quickly that she was about to bear witness to an astronomical event. She might not have known much about the Kaiba family, or its reputation, but it was obvious from the reverent grins on everyone's faces that they were clear and honest celebrities in Domino City.

Roughly twenty minutes passed before a spotlight shot itself on and locked, dead-center, on a figure as it made its swaggering way into the center of the arena. The young man had light brown hair that looked somehow green from where Kay was sitting; he was dressed in purest, blinding white, and even from her spot several levels up from the floor she could tell that the grin on his face could only be described as "shit-eating."

The young man adjusted something on the lapel of his suit jacket—likely a microphone—and thrust his arms outward. _"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen!" _he declared in a clear, strong, hypnotic voice, and Kay's breath caught in her throat. _"Welcome, one and all, to the dueling event of the century!"_

The crowd cheered like an army for its general before heading out onto the field.

The young man let this go on for some time before gesturing for silence; the din hushed immediately. Softly, quietly, he continued: "Never before in the history of _Magic & Wizards _has there been a player quite like Seto Kaiba. You who are sitting here, privy to this historical happening, might know him as the Chief Executive Officer of the Kaiba Corporation. You might know him as the madman who turned half this glorious city into a battlefield for his own amusement. You might know him as an inventor, as a scientist, as a philanthropist, as an insufferable reincarnation of Narcissus himself."

The low rumble of the expected chuckle emanated through the silence as the speaker took a pause. Kay looked over at the other two, with a question in her eyes: _Who is this?_

Neither Katie nor Renie seemed to know.

"Say what you want about the man, there's no denying that the name Kaiba will be stamped forever onto the history of the professional dueling circuit. What started as a kids' game has grown into Domino's own personal blood sport, and Seto Kaiba was the first to step up and give it the loud, proud, angry devotion it deserves! Before we get on with today's program, why not stand tall and give a round of applause to the man who took every nerd stereotype by the balls and stomped them into the dirt! Give it up for _Seto Kaiba!"_

The light swept over to one side of the arena, and out strode the man of the hour; Seto Kaiba was resplendent in a pitch-black suit, covered by a billowing black trench coat. The only splash of color on his entire person was a navy blue tie. He did not wave to the crowd; he didn't need to. He simply let his lofty, imperial gaze cover each of the spectators as though personally inspecting them. The people roared.

If the man in white was a general then this, surely, was the king.

Katie and Renie were standing; Kay rose slowly to her feet, unsure if she had the right to.

This time it was Seto who called for silence, with a single lifted hand. The silence seemed to shake with anticipation, and Kay marveled at such a simple, effective command.

The man in white began to speak again: "I would be doing a disservice to all of you if I didn't mention Yugi Mutou, the humble prodigy who dethroned this living legend standing in front of you today. But the time has come for a _new _era, an era built not on sheer competition but one built on ties of blood! Let Yugi Mutou flaunt his good fortune at someone else's tournament! We're here to talk about _Magic & Wizards _as it was meant to be played: with strategy woven into strategy, with calculation and devotion. Blind faith has no place in this arena!"

The cheers at this declaration were decidedly more polarized; there _was _a great outcry of enthusiasm, but Kay realized that there were apparently a great number of Yugi fans in the audience who weren't keen on this apparent attack.

The man in white gestured, and the spotlight shot into the crowd. "There's the man his own self!" the man cried, and Kay saw that Yugi Mutou had chosen to attend this match; he was leaning back in his seat, one leg tossed over the other, arms crossed over his chest; he nodded amicably at the acknowledgement. It looked like the dominant personality, Yami, was in charge. "Look on our works, ye mighty, and despair! Let's show this _world champion _how it's done!"

The man in white laughed as the cheers rang out anew, and Kay had to admit that his attitude was infectious. And all throughout his animated introductions, the elder Kaiba brother stood solemnly, patently ignoring his old rival. He wore a device on his left wrist that Kay didn't recognize. Some sort of portable computer? She couldn't tell from this distance.

"What's that on Mister Kaiba's arm?" Kay asked Renie.

"Called a Duel Disk," came the quick, breathless reply. "You'll see."

The man in white said, "And now…the _challenger. _Pay attention, because you're all about to witness history. You've seen him grow. You've laughed with him, cried with him, you've marveled at how ungodly adorable he is. Personally, I think it's witchcraft." Another pause for the expected bout of laughter. "But here, now, I invite you to witness another side. There's a reason he can stand side-by-side with a legend without the faintest hint of irony. There's tenacity in his blood, there's steel in his spine, and you're about to see that today. Join me in ushering into the arena, to face his brother in open combat for the first time…the one…the only…_Mokuba Kaiba!"_

Kay had thought the reception for Seto had been thunderous. What followed Mokuba's name was an event such that the very foundations of the building shook. Renie tucked two fingers into her mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

Out walked the prince. Mokuba wore a black t-shirt tucked into black jeans, a dark purple over-shirt, and white sneakers. He looked tiny, but by no means vulnerable. His radiant face was split in an excitable grin, and he waved enthusiastically at the crowd. He wore a device identical to his brother's on his own left wrist.

"The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground," said the man in white, apocalyptically. Another, unsettling, hush settled over the stands. The man in white gestured to Seto, then to Mokuba, and the brothers looked at each other for the first time.

Seto's expression did not change. He held out his left arm, and the device on his wrist extended outward, flipped and snapped until it resembled a shelf that ran up his elbow; a pair of tiny _things _shot out to the sides of the arena. He reached into a pocket and held up a deck of cards.

Mokuba nodded, then mimicked the gestures of his sibling. His own Duel Disk unfolded into position, and again, a pair of projectiles shot out of it. The boy displayed his own deck.

They began to shuffle; Kay glanced up at the large screens hanging from the ceiling and saw a close-up of the pair's hands. Mokuba's shook slightly, and his movements were jerky. Seto shuffled with speed, skill, and confidence.

The man in white took both decks when they were presented to him, and he exchanged them so that Seto and Mokuba could cut their opponent's cards. Once each deck was in its owner's hands again, they slid them into a compartment of their Duel Disks. Kay saw the number 4000 appear at the bottom corners of the screens, and she realized that the game had started.

The man in white said, "Begin," and stepped out of the arena.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Kay had no damned clue what happened throughout the course of the match. Even though the Kaiba brothers shouted out each card as it was played, and lifelike holograms of their creatures sprang up from the arena floor like Athenian kings, Kay could no more follow the gameplay than she could have parsed ancient Latin.

She simply sat back and watched the monsters bite and tear and rend into each other, soaking in the fact that it didn't really matter that she didn't know the specifics; something deep in her, something dark and primal, responded to the atmosphere of this place and was exultant. She wasn't nearly as exuberant as her friends, who shouted themselves hoarse and laughed uproariously, shaking their fists in the air, but Kay Mayer realized sometime around the 1800 mark—the brothers were roughly even, trading blows with equal flare and audacity—that her mouth was open, her eyes wide and glistening, and her heart was fluttering.

When Seto announced that he was sacrificing two of his monsters, the very air crackled with anticipation; and when he called out the words that illuminated his legacy more than any others—"I summon the _Blue-Eyes White Dragon!"—_the roof seemed to shatter. People began stomping their feet in time with some ethereal drumbeat, and when the gleaming white serpent sprang up into the air, lounging godlike above its summoner, Kay felt tears spring from her eyes.

This was a children's game. These creatures were merely CGI manifestations of artwork on little slips of cardboard that were sold nine to a pack at any comic shop in the country. A pair of brothers were playing a game together.

So why was she having a religious experience?

This was ridiculous. Absurd. Laughable.

And yet…

"…your field is open!" Seto was saying now. He had a meager 800 points left by the point that she actively paid attention again; Mokuba had 230. The man's voice was a quiet thunderstorm, so powerful and with such conviction that he almost didn't need a microphone. "My deepest apologies, little brother, but this is checkmate! Blue-Eyes! Attack directly! _Burst Stream!"_

Far from looking resigned, defeated, or even fearful, the younger Kaiba's face was triumphant. Kay could see, up on the screen that was dead-center on the boy, that a kind of thrumming excitement was making him tremble.

Mokuba hit a small button on the side of his Duel Disk, and one of his facedown cards, the holograms of which were longer than he was tall, lifted up like the lid of a coffin. Mokuba said, "Sorry, big guy," with a cheeky little grin. "I activate _Word of Diminishment. _Your little burst stream? _Done! _Don't make me laugh."

The beam of crackling white lightning that had sprung from the dragon's jaws thinned out and vanished, and the creature looked nothing if not mystified.

"A pitiful delay of the inevitable!" Seto declared. Kay had realized some time ago that he was playing the crowd. He probably would have been perfectly content to play in absolute silence. But that wasn't what the people wanted. They wanted war. They wanted theater.

They wanted a show.

"Oh, but I'm not done!" said Mokuba. "Next up! _Meritorious Alacrity! _One of my monsters has been waiting for this! He's done biting at the bit! Are you ready for him?!"

Mokuba took out his deck, sifted through it, and summoned a huge, hulking creature that looked like the king of some demonic chessboard. Its skull-like visage seemed to grin savagely as it clutched a golden sword in its mammoth fists. Mokuba called it the _Vengeful Swordstalker. _

Seto chuckled. "You'll have to do better than that!"

Mokuba shuffled his cards, slammed them back into his duel disk, and drew. He grinned devilishly, and said, without preamble: _"Rune of the Final Act."_

A blast of purple-black lightning shot down into the center of the battlefield; a wicked, jet-black, six-bladed mace had embedded itself head-first into the floor. The Swordstalker switched the grip on its blade and slammed it down between its feet, where it sank down six inches and stood there like a sacred monument.

The demon sidestepped its sword and took up the mace. The same dark lightning that had announced the thing's arrival crackled up the Swordstalker's left arm. The beast reached out its right claw and drew a bright purple run into the air: a pentagram with the skull of a goat at its center.

Taking the mace in both hands, the Swordstalker swung it into the rune, shattering it like a stained glass window; its jagged, fang-like shards sank deep into the Blue-Eyes White Dragon's flesh. The great wyrm let out a sky-shattering roar that sent a superstitious shiver down Kay's spine, and exploded.

The crowd held its breath.

The numbers that represented Seto's score—his life points—slowly, agonizingly, counted down to zero.

The match was over. Mokuba had won.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Kay wondered if she would still have functional hearing by the time she left this building. This time, though, she couldn't help clapping and cheering right along everyone else. Katie and Renie were embracing each other, jumping up and down as they laughed hysterically. Renie reached over and threw an arm around Kay, leaning her head against Kay's shoulder and crying.

Perhaps at that moment, Kay realized that this wasn't just a children's game; to the people of Domino City, _Magic & Wizards _was just as much a vessel for competition as any sport. Here, the Kaibas were superstars. Kay thought of the way that big college towns rallied around their football teams—her own father, who'd gone to the University of Rhode Island in Kingston, still wore his Rams sweater religiously during each year's season—and something clicked.

A full two minutes went by before Seto raised his hand again, weaving a sudden but irrevocable spell of absolute silence.

He said, "When I was younger, as I was first learning the demands of my future career, I had no time for cards." The somberness of his tone cut through every observer, and Kay leaned forward unconsciously as she sat back down; it didn't seem right to stand. "I had forgotten my passions in a lust for corporate power which, perhaps, is all too common." Seto gestured toward the boy that stood across from him. "My brother reminded me. He sneaked my meager assortment of _Magic & Wizards _cards into a textbook one night, and gave it to me under the pretense of helping me study."

Mokuba looked stunned. His eyes, more than anyone's, were glued to his brother.

Kay stole a glance at Katie and Renie; they looked as clueless as she felt.

"Hidden in my little collection was a new card, made of standard-issue copy paper." Seto reached into a pocket and retrieved a little necklace. He opened it (clearly it was a locket) and slipped out of it a piece of frayed white paper. He lifted it, and on the screens Kay could see a young child's crayon drawing of the same radiant white dragon that had graced the auditorium at the tail end of the match. A low, but audible _"Awwww…" _reverberated through the stands. Kay saw that Mokuba was blushing, and she smiled.

"My brother gave me my first _Blue-Eyes White Dragon," _Seto said; he did _not_ smile. He was, in point of fact, deadly serious. He put the handmade card back into place and pocketed it again.

He waited a while, seeming to ponder something. No one made a sound.

Then Seto turned back to the crowd. "Here, now, with you all in attendance, I am announcing my official retirement; this was my final professional match of _Magic & Wizards. _It is fitting, thus, that we should have used the rule-set introduced in the Battle City tournament, which many of you will recall as the first tournament that I, and my company, funded personally. Do you remember the conditions of defeat from that event?"

The question was rhetorical; somehow, everyone sensed this.

"The loser shall surrender to the winner his, or her, rarest card," Seto said. Mokuba stiffened. The man strode toward his young sibling, who suddenly seemed very small indeed. Seto took his deck from his Duel Disk, shuffled it, and drew the top card.

"Niisama…" Mokuba whispered; his microphone caught it, and the emotion choking his little voice.

"Mokuba," Seto said, finally allowing a smile to grace his face; it transformed him. "You gave me my first _Blue-Eyes. _Allow me to return the favor." He held out the card. When Mokuba wouldn't take it, Seto reached out with his free hand, took hold of both of his brother's, and pressed the card into them. "You've earned this victory, and this card. Exult in it."

Mokuba couldn't speak. Seto may as well have handed him the Holy Grail.

The black-haired boy burst into tears, and threw his arms around his brother's waist. Yet again, there was a reaction from the crowd; but rather than yelling and crying and screeching, they simply applauded. It washed soothingly like a cresting wave, and Kay found that her face was wet with her own tears. She wouldn't understand until much, _much _later why this simple little display of brotherly affection and sportsmanship should affect her so much, but at the moment, she didn't question it.

It seemed a sacrilege to question it.

Seto lifted Mokuba up onto his shoulders, and the cheers started again. The man in white stepped up next to the brothers and said, "Well, now! I do believe we've heard a most masterful speech from our retired champion. How about a word from the victor?"

Mokuba's grin split his face as he gazed out at the crowd. Finally, he composed himself, and turned toward the section of the stands where his brother's rival was sitting.

He said, clearly and decisively:

"…You're next, Yugi."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Katie and Renie barely had voices anymore as they approached the Kaibas after the crowd had finally begun to disperse. None of the subsequent matches of the day's tournament could live up to the preliminary one, but that didn't seem to matter. It was all in the name of good, honest competition.

Kay saw Detective McKinley approach from another section, grinning broadly, as they finally reached the brothers. Kay felt decidedly odd to be approaching these people who had seemed so much larger than life. She felt like she'd been invited onto the field after the Superbowl.

Seto shook the detective's hand, and received a boisterous pat on the back with quiet, but begrudging, acceptance. Katie came up first after her father, and declared in a harsh rasp, "That duel was _amazing! _Brilliant! Beautiful!"

Seto nodded beneficently like a god bestowing a favor. His bright blue eyes cut across to Renie, who squeaked; her usual brazen charisma seemed to have failed her. Then Seto noticed Kay, and those eyes widened slightly.

"All right, full disclosure," Detective McKinley said, smiling at Mokuba, who stood at his brother's side. "Did you go easy on him? Just a _little _bit?"

"Absolutely not," Seto said, and Kay might have expected there to be a hidden acquiescence in his tone, a bemused admittance that yes, he had, but to uphold his brother's honor of course he had to say no. No such thing was in Seto's voice; there was honest conviction there, and Kay thought she may have finally caught the full measure of this man for the first time.

"I think you did," Mokuba mumbled, staring down at his prize with glowing eyes.

"Now, now, kiddo," came a new voice, which turned out to be the man in white's, "feel the superiority! You won! You're a champion!"

"Actually, until he _does _beat Yugi," the detective said, "he's not quite a champion yet."

The man in white put on a sardonic, exasperated face. "Gimme a break. Mutou bathes himself in luck. There's no elegance to what he brings to the table. It's like bringing a bible to a knife fight."

Seto chuckled. He ruffled Mokuba's messy black hair. "You won, Mokuba. You should know me better than to think I would throw an honest fight."

"Mmmm…" said Mokuba, but he leaned his head against Seto's side and smiled quietly to himself as he continued to look down at the card still held reverently in both hands.

"Ah!" Katie said, and pulled Kay forward by the crook of her arm. "If I may," she said, gesturing grandly, "this is Kay. She's a newcomer to our fair city, and this was her first exposure to our, uh, blood sport."

Seto gave that kingly nod again. "Mayer?" he asked, but it felt like less a question and more a…condemnation. Kay stood tall and nodded. She held out her hand with a standard sort of greeting, and Seto shook it.

Something like electric shock ran up her arm, and Kay let out an involuntary little yelp.

Seto blinked, let go quickly, and stared at his hand.

"…Goddamn it," Seto whispered. "This is what he—"

He lifted his head again. Kay saw that his eyes—somehow, in the span of three seconds—had gone the cloudy, indifferent blue of icebergs.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Noa makes a few references in his little spiel: the Greek myth of Narcissus, who was so infatuated with the beauty of his own reflection that he died trying to possess it; Percy Shelley's sonnet "Ozymandias," which is actually rendered: "Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"; and the biblical story of Cain and Abel.**_

_**Kay's musing on Athenian kings refers to the concept of autochthony; that is, Cecrops—the first king of the famous Greek city-state Athens—was according to myth born straight out of the earth, indicating his ethnic purity.**_

_**I'm taking a mythology class this semester. Sue me.**_

_**As to the duel itself, see? Told you it wouldn't be so bad. Right? Please? I suppose an explanation is in order; the names of the cards I mention throughout the last couple of phases (namely, 'Word of Diminishment,' 'Meritorious Alacrity,' and 'Rune of the Final Act') are actually taken from Dungeons & Dragons; specifically, from spells cast by my most recent character, a runepriest called Fairfax. So, a bit of license, if you please. I hope it made for an interesting read, or at least a non-boring one. Is that a phrase? Non-boring?**_

_**Could Mokuba beat his brother in an honest-to-goodness duel? Probably not. But I don't question these things as they come to me. I'm instinctive, and the scene dictated that the little Kaiba prove victorious. I figure that if Seto were going to lose to anyone in his final match as a professional duelist, it should be someone who would appreciate the gravity of that idea.**_

_**Someone who…well, you know…**_**isn't**_** Yugi.**_

_**At certain points during this chapter's creation, I doubted my vision. Thankfully, I got over that. The work is purer for it. Is it more correct? Maybe not. But it's honest. It is, in fact, true.**_

**…**_**I'm also taking an ethics class.**_

_**I'll show myself out.**_


	19. The Path of Most Resistance

_**Thanks to those of you who gave my experiment last chapter a chance. For those who decided not to suffer through a written duel, know that I don't blame you. I'd have done the same thing. I did my absolute best to keep things moving at a fast, exciting clip, and made sure not to bog it down with rule explanations and gratuitous flip-flops, as we so often see in canon. I implore you to give it a try if you haven't; I promise it's relevant to the plot.**_

_**But in case you just don't do duels in your fanfiction, the short version: before a local tournament, Seto and Mokuba faced off against one another in an exhibition match. Mokuba managed to win, and received one of his brother's Blue-Eyes White Dragons as a prize.**_

_**Kisara "Kay" Mayer was in the audience, and when she approached the Kaibas with Katie and Renie after the match, Seto started to introduce himself to her, when his eyes inexplicably changed color.**_

_**Take a wild guess what that means.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

Kay stared. "What…?"

Seto was now staring openly at her, throat working as though the words he was trying to say had swelled up his tongue. He managed to choke out, in a much thicker voice than before: "K…Ki…sa—" before lowering his head again, cradling it in one hand. "…Pardon," he said, speaking normally again. "I think…I may be falling—ill…"

He whirled around and shot for the exit.

"Niisama?" Mokuba called after him, looking surprised and almost lost. "Niisama!"

The man in white looked suddenly angry, and anguished. He clenched his teeth and swore, then turned his attention to the detective. "Eyes sharp, McKinley. Watch Mokuba." And with these clipped instructions, he stalked off himself.

The black-haired boy, still holding his new card in both hands, looked frightened now. "Noa! What's going on? _Noa! Answer me!"_

The man in white stopped on a dime, turned his head over his shoulder, and called back, "Stay here, kiddo! I'll handle this! You're just going to have to trust me on this one!"

And he was gone.

"But…!"

A broad, sure hand rested on Mokuba's right shoulder. Detective McKinley smiled down at him; his eyes were conflicted, but his voice was firm. "You heard the man. I'm sure your brother will be fine."

Kay felt a nearly irresistible urge to laugh as Mokuba pouted, glaring hotly after Noa's back. He said _"Sheesh"_ in a tone that was clearly meant for a curse, and Kay thought her heart might cheerfully melt right there.

"He doesn't _get _sick, does he?" Renie asked the stifling silence.

"Not really," Mokuba said, grumbling. "Niisama's been acting weird. Noa, too. They're trying to hide it from me. Protect me from something. They're always doing that." He tried to keep his voice reproachful, annoyed, but Kay was an informal expert on the temperature of people's moods, and she could hear warmth, not heat, in Mokuba's voice.

He sighed, then turned to regard Kay. "Hello," he said in a new, chipper sort of voice, offered hand-in-hand with a smile. "Thanks for coming. We weren't sure how many people were going to show up. Niisama said people would think he was either trying to prove he was still relevant by beating up a little kid, or rolling over and dying by letting himself get beat up by a little kid. Either way, pathetic."

"Oh, no," Kay said, returning the smile because, honestly, she had no choice. While his brother's personality left something to be desired, this boy was clearly a born charmer. His smile was easy and inviting. "This was an eye-opener. I mean, I've heard my dad talk about Kaiba-Corp holograms before, but this was my first time seeing them work their magic."

Mokuba's smile widened into a full-fledged grin.

"So," Kay said, turning to Katie and Renie as though pulling them into the conversation as backup, "if I'm to understand this right, there are only a handful of these _Blue-Eyes White Dragon _cards, right? How many did you say there were?"

"Four," Katie said. "Mister Mutou, the owner of the Turtle, you met him on the porch, he's got one. Mister Kaiba has…two, now. And there's the last one right there." She gestured to Mokuba.

"Hmmm…" Kay murmured thoughtfully. "So they've never been reprinted?"

"Nope." Katie put on a nasty little grin of her own. "Why? Is someone _interested? _I saw the way you were watching the games. You're curious, aren'tcha? Huh? Arent'cha?"

Kay rolled her eyes. "What? Can't I be a _girl _sometimes? I thought it was pretty."

Renie quirked an eyebrow. "Really? _Pretty? _I mean, it's cool, sure. It's a freakin' _dragon. _But…it's a freakin' _dragon!"_

Kay shrugged.

"Why would he…?" Mokuba whispered to himself, turning again to the card like he thought it might disappear. "These are so important to him. I can't believe he would…"

"It's his guardian," Kay said, before her brain caught up. "His white knight. His Excalibur. Some people give their kids hunting rifles, or the keys to a car, or set up a separate bank account, as a symbol of their faith that sonny-boy or baby girl is growing up and getting ready to take on the world. He gave you his dragon. The highest vote of confidence he could think up."

There was a beat of stunned silence, as Katie, Renie, and even Detective McKinley stared openly at her. Renie asked, "Where did _that _come from, greenhorn?"

Kay blinked, watched Mokuba's face for a moment, then said, "…I'm a psych student. It's hard to turn off. What? Tell me I'm wrong."

"No…" Mokuba said slowly, still half to himself, "…no, I guess maybe you're right. I mean, he _did _let me sign up for that class. Maybe…maybe…"

The detective chuckled. "You're learning, Miss Mayer."

"I'll say," Katie put in. "I've been following him for years and _I _wouldn't've come up with that."

Kay put on a pensive expression and mused. Maybe, what she'd taken as self-evident _wasn't _so self-evident? Was that why Seto Kaiba's reputation was fueled by just as much enmity as awe? She filed the idea away, and turned back to the eyes.

Eyes didn't just…change color.

What the hell was wrong with this city, and why did it feel so familiar?

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

"I don't need anyone checking up on me," Seto snapped without turning around, "much less a posse. I thought we agreed, Noa, that you would keep near Mokuba in public from now on."

Noa—adjusting his suit jacket and looking around at the people milling about the parking lot where Seto had sequestered himself near a trash can—smirked. "He's with McKinley. He'll be fine. It's happening again, isn't it?" He didn't sound concerned so much as offended. "It's taking control again, isn't it? Did you bring that fucking thing?"

Seto removed the Millennium Rod from its place—yet again—beneath his coat. He grimaced. "No. I didn't. Except, obviously, I did."

Yugi Mutou, wearing a king's face, chuckled. "I'm sure this is all new to you, Kaiba. The Millennium Items can be a heavy burden, not to mention a confusing one. I just want to help." Something about the way Yugi talked when Yami had control of him sent a shiver through Seto's entire body; it used to be that he would only see this man in the arena.

"Not interested," Seto hissed. "I'll handle this myself. Noa, get back to Mokuba. _Now."_

"Not happening, Aniki. Y'oughtta know better than that."

"You have built your career by learning from those with more expertise than yourself," Yami said. "In this, there is no more an expert than I. Look me in the eye, Kaiba. I respect you. Of all the people I have met in my time here, you are the most fundamentally honest. You are angry, because you fear for your boy's safety. Magic has done him pitifully few favors, I admit. So let me help you. I know personally the spirit with whom you are dealing. I can make him see…reason."

Seto eyed his old rival suspiciously, his lips curling and it was obvious that he was preparing to tell Yami to perform illicit acts with himself; then the eldest Kaiba's eyes flashed to his pseudo-twin, and his shoulders fell in defeat. "…Fine."

"Excellent!" Yami said, laughing. "Noa? I can handle things from here. If I fail to resolve this situation, you may cheerfully murder me. At the moment, though, I think little Mokuba is concerned. You might want to let him in on the secret. I'm sure he doesn't appreciate being lied to, and if you think you've actually hidden this from him…either of you…I can assure you that you haven't."

"Of course we haven't," Noa muttered. "He's a Kaiba. He knows damn well that something's wrong. Fine. I'll talk to him. But don't insult me, Mutou. If anything happens to Mokuba because you fail to make that _thing _'see reason,' I won't stop at cheerfully murdering _you."_

Yami grinned again. "Naturally."

Noa stalked off, hands stuffed into the pockets of his slacks.

"Get on with it," Seto muttered, rolling his eyes. "I assume that we'll be meeting in the grand dining hall of my soul again."

"Your soul room is a dining hall?" Yami asked, eyebrows raising. "Fascinating. That explains a lot, actually. Yes, as a matter of fact. I think it would be best if we did business there. And…before you ask, don't worry about this material world. No one will be aware of our little séance."

"Lovely," Seto said.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"Cousin! Did you see? _Did you see?!"_

Yami, dressed in a white robe embroidered with gold symbols, held up a hand and smiled. He looked surprisingly gentle as he sat down at the table. "Of course I saw, Seti. And I know very well that you are pleased. But before we get to the matter of your white dragon, there is business to conduct. Kaiba? Please, sit. This is your domain. You are, of course, pivotal to these negotiations."

Seto, eyeing the man who looked so much like him, sat down. Feet flat on the marble floor, back ramrod straight, he kept his hands clenched together in his lap, so as to avoid using the flatware in front of him as a weapon.

"Negotiations?" Seti asked. He leaned back in his chair, looking suspicious, but he shrugged. "Of course. I am not unreasonable. Let us negotiate."

"There is a bit of a problem of hierarchy," Yami said mildly. "It seems, Seti, that you have taken to using Kaiba's body for your own purposes, without permission." Seti made to speak, but Yami held up a hand again. "I am not finished. You have once inhabited Kaiba in order to seek out those who hold the other gems of the Golden Cradle." Here Yami gestured rather grandly to the Millennium Puzzle around his neck. "And now, in public, you have sought to speak to Miss Mayer."

"Of course!" Seti proclaimed.

"My body is my own," Seto said firmly, with no sense of decorum. "I refuse any interference. Just sitting here with the two of you is an insult to my sanity. You are apparently operating under the delusion that you are an equal party to my life. You are a parasite, Seti, and my current course of action is to rid myself of you. You hold no power over me, nor do I have any obligation to you."

As expected, Seti's face reddened with anger. "…You…_dare _speak to me—"

Seto stood. _"You, _spirit, seem dependent upon me for your continued existence. You have no body of your own. You are a shattered fragment of memory. Do not presume authority over me. Yes, I am a blasphemer. I think of your gods as little more than a mass of delusions, and if they _do _exist, they are spiteful and malevolent, and beneath my concern. I bow to no one, to nothing, and your power does not interest me. Would you like to fight me for control of this body? This 'domain,' as Mutou calls it? Fine. I'll treat you like every other _idiot _who's tried to cross me."

Seti stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

Yami chuckled. "You see, Cousin? Do you understand why he is fit for this?"

Seti regained his composure slowly, and nodded. "…Indeed." He cleared his throat. "Please, good man. Sit. I now see the score of things."

Seto sneered, and remained standing.

"If you would do business with this…most particular individual," Yami said, "there must be mutual respect. Just as you held power in our land, Kaiba holds power in his. We are equals, here, and this must be maintained if anything is to come of our interactions together. I can assure you, Seti, that Kaiba will undermine every attempt you make to wrestle control from him. In fact, I think you have set a contingency plan in motion yourself? Kaiba?"

Thinking of Noa, Seto said: "Yes. I have."

Seti leaned back, rubbing his chin. "…Fine. I see. If we are to be equals, then, I have a matter I should like to discuss with you. Why have you abandoned ownership of a white dragon? What possible reason could you have for entrusting one of the most powerful serpents in existence to the care of a simpering child?"

Seto's eyes narrowed. "The reason is that it was mine to entrust. I will do as I see fit with it."

"You have cast a gift from heaven into the mud and stomped on it simply because it is yours?"

"There is no heaven, and no gifts come from it," Seto sneered. "But even if you were right, my answer would not change. Yes. That is precisely why. Twice now you have insulted my brother in front of me."

"Insulted? Please. Let us be honest here, successor. It is mere truth, not an insult, to claim that an insect's place is beneath the heel of a man."

The room slowly, ominously, began to darken.

It was not Seto who spoke next, but Yami: "…Cousin. You tread upon thin ice. Leave the boy out of this, or you will make two of the worst enemies you could ever hope to meet."

"It is mere truth, not an insult, to claim that a corpse is beneath even the nobility of an insect," Seto hissed. "You are, at best, a projection of fallen glory. A pathetic fragment of a past that no one can remember. Your civilization is nothing more than dust and ashes. You speak of men? You are a footnote. You mean _nothing _to me, will _never _mean anything to me, and if you prove yourself a threat to my 'simpering' child's safety, then I will find whatever remains of your pathetic, shriveled body and chop it into so many pieces that even your beloved gods wouldn't be able to find them all! I'll find your damned Millennium Items just for the purpose of melting them down into costume jewelry! Go ahead, you _fucking_ _cockroach, _make an enemy of me."

Seti stared openly at the man who looked like him.

Then, eyes sparkling, he grinned.

"Do you know," said the spirit of Seti I, "more than one hundred hands have grasped the Destroyer of Minds since my death? You have no understanding of just how long I have been waiting for one of them, _any _of them, to take up that scepter and _rule _with it. I came to you expecting a servant. It seems that I have finally found a king."

Grinning, Seti stood up and bowed with a flourish.

"Seto Sasaki-Yagami Kaiba, I am at your disposal."

Had Seto been in a slightly better, or slightly worse, mood, he might have believed that.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

"Be careful, Kaiba."

Back in the parking lot behind the auditorium, where Seto and his rival had made their journey inward, Yami was still in control. He looked rather grim; Seto raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm always as careful as I can afford to be," he said sardonically. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"My cousin is much like you," Yami replied. "If he senses weakness from you, or that his faith in you has been betrayed or misplaced, he will attempt to rectify the problem to his standards. I will do everything in my power—which I assure you remains rather potent when dealing with my own kind—to intervene on the little one's behalf. I like Mokuba a great deal, and believe wholeheartedly that your custodianship of him is vital to his future success. But in regard to what Seti opts to do with _you…_you are, as you have always been, on your own."

Seto smirked. "I should hope so."

"By the way…let Mokuba know that I stand ready to accept his challenge, whenever he wishes." Yami winked. "An inspired performance, from both of you." He hesitated, then added, "Keep watch on Miss Mayer. Her time in this city is far from over."

"Is she a threat, like your cousin?"

"Hardly. In fact, she would be a most potent ally in that fight. If she could only remember who she is."

"You delight in riddles, Mutou."

"I do. It keeps things interesting. I like seeing if people are able to unravel them."

"When I saw her, I saw someone else," Seto said slowly. "I remembered…a woman in robes. I remembered the Blue-Eyes White Dragon. The name 'Kisara.' That's what this whole nonsense is about. Why Seti is so offended that I would give one of them to Mokuba. Why he tried to take control of me when I saw her."

Yami nodded. "You seem more willing to accept the nature of magic than you were so many years ago. The pieces are connecting more readily for you. Tell me, Kaiba, how much do you know of my country's history? By which I mean…" his lip curled disdainfully, "…Egypt. Let us, just for a moment, accept as fact that I _am _the man I claim to be."

"If I am to accept that, then I know this: your predecessor was Akhmenkhuamun, the man responsible for the Great Pyramid at Giza. You were replaced by Seti I." Seto's eyes flashed suddenly. "Do not…do not tell me…"

"Of course, Kaiba. So many thousands of years ago, Seti was my successor. In other words, you. _You _took the throne when I died. And if you take the path that my cousin intends to offer you, then you will do the same now. All that talk of destiny, back when we were locked in battle with each other? It seems I forgot the course of my own history. In my hubris, I assumed that I had been brought back to this age for a second chance at glory. It seems, however, that I was brought back to perform the precise role that I had back home."

"Which is…?"

"To prepare you for kingship, Kaiba. My attempt to gather the Millennium Items and put them to rest…well, it quite obviously failed. You, like me, have begun with a single item, and a…" Yami chuckled, "spiritual adviser. And if you decide to undertake my old mission, and find the remaining six, you will find yourself more powerful than you could ever have dreamed. No one, not I, not my cousin, not Pegasus Crawford, will be able to touch you. If you succeed where I have failed, Kaiba, you will gain the one thing you have always wanted in your life."

Seto's eyes narrowed to slits. "Which is…?"

"Control."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**I decided a long time ago that the best fit for Yami's reign as king in Egypt was in the Fourth Dynasty, the rulers of which were responsible for the pyramids at Giza. Primarily, I decided on this because the kings were still quite literally gods in the minds of their subjects back then; obviously, I don't know this for fact, as I've never met an Ancient Egyptian, but I do know that royal power was absolute, which is more than I can say for later dynasties, such as when Yami ruled in canon. While I admit that there's some credence to the conflicts that could be made if we do assume Yami was born in the twenty-first dynasty (around 1,000 BCE), a time of governmental upheaval in Egypt, I don't feel that this really does much justice to his power.**_

_**So instead, I looked at the English version of things. I can't help it. This series is special for me in that I first got into it when I was too young to know about the Japanese version, and so I literally grew up on the dub. And so, even as I incorporate more and more of the original version into my stories here, there are certain things that just work better in my head.**_

_**Since the English version opts for Yami having lived 5,000 years ago instead of the Japanese 3,000, that lands Yami's reign right around 3,000 BCE. I don't subscribe to this, either, as that would put Yami's reign nearly smack-dab in the predynastic period of Egypt, before kings even existed. I decided in my eternal wisdom to split the difference. So now, he rules in place of Djedefra, in the Fourth Dynasty, right around 2,600 BCE. This means that his father replaces Khufu, the king responsible for the Great Pyramid, and that Seti, his replacement, takes up the reign of Khafra. The king list takes back up historically with Menkaura, whom I have before identified as the Ancient Egyptian Mokuba.**_

_**According to Herodotus, Menkaura was responsible for alleviating the suffering of his people brought upon by his predecessor. If that doesn't sound like an ancient ruler's version of what Mokuba does for Seto, then I don't know what does.**_


	20. The Family

_**I tried to make it clear what I was doing in my last note, in regard to the list of Egyptian kings. There seems to still be some confusion.**_

_**First, yes, I **_**am **_**trying to be accurate in my portrayal of Egyptian history; which is to say, as accurate as I can be. Considering one of the main characters in the Yu-Gi-Oh! Franchise is a king that never existed, I have no choice but to bend the rules. There is literally no other option.**_

_**I took Djedefra out of the running to make room for Yami/Atemhotep. In my version of Egypt, he never existed. The Seti I that takes the throne after him has nothing whatsoever to do with the Seti I that we know. I did this because Priest Seto, as he is known in canon, was the next king after Atemhotep died. However, Seto is a Japanese name, not an Egyptian one. There is no reason to believe that Atem's replacement was in any way Japanese, and so I changed his name to Seti, which is the closest Egyptian equivalent I could find that really felt like it fit; and it should, since the name already exists.**_

_**The "real" Seti I reigned early in Dynasty 19. But he can't be Seti I anymore, in this story, because the name has already been used way back in Dynasty 4. So he's now Seti II. The "real" Seti II, who also ruled in Dynasty 19, would be Seti III.**_

_**The Fourth Dynasty, which is the most important one for this story, would thus look like this, in the Egypt that exists here in "Cult of the Dragon King": **_

_**Sneferu **_

_**Akhmenkhuamun (Akhenamkhanen in canon, Atem's father; replaces Khufu)**_

_**Atemhotep (Atem in canon, Yami; replaces Djedefra) **_

_**Seti I (Priest Seto, Seto Kaiba's ancestor; replaces Khafra)**_

_**Menkaura (Mokuba's ancestor; matches up with our history)**_

_**Shepseskaf.**_

_**One other thing before we get going with today's chapter: the conflict between Seto and Seti is in no way over. It hasn't been resolved by a long shot. The reason I did things as amicably as I did last chapter was simple: there are three examples of "spirit relationships" in canon. Yami/Yugi, Yami Bakura/Ryou, Yami Malik/Malik; and now, we have Seti/Seto.**_

_**In two out of the three canon situations, the relationship is wholly and irrevocably twisted. Yami Malik is a manifestation of insanity; Yami Bakura is a manifestation of evil. The only one who's even halfway benevolent is Yami Yugi, and in this story he's far from "a good guy." He's kind of a jerk.**_

_**I didn't want the same kind of relationship to take place between Seto and Seti because…well, it's kind of old hat by now. I wanted something a bit more subtle. Sort of.**_

_**Okay. I'm done rambling. I'll let Seti speak for himself. Let's get started, shall we?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"Mokuba. Come here, please. I'd like to speak with you."

Mokuba was used to his brother's voice having a professional edge to it; it was just a part of the man's personality. Even when Seto was in a good mood, happy, even when he was talking to a friend, there was a certain restraint that suggested he was paying the utmost attention to every word that came out of his mouth, just in case it might get quoted in a newspaper article later.

But Mokuba couldn't remember ever hearing _this_ kind of somberness before. It didn't help any that neither Seto nor Noa had said a single word to him or to each other the entire ride home. Not that Mokuba had expected congratulations or a pat on the head or anything, but he might have expected _some_ kind of banter to go on.

Noa was staring off into space, looking angry, and Seto looked like he was about to commit _seppuku._ He gestured for the youngest Kaiba to follow him, and Mokuba did the only thing he could possibly have done at this moment: he obeyed.

Seto walked slowly up the stairs to the second floor, and led his brother to the private study where he spent the majority of his time at home. Seto shut the door after Mokuba had slipped off his shoes and stepped inside.

Seto gestured for Mokuba to sit down; the only chair was Seto's own. The boy sat, feeling suddenly small. Confused and worried, Mokuba waited for his brother to speak.

"…You've been worried," Seto said, and his voice had a twinge of anger in it; it sounded much more natural that way, and Mokuba relaxed. "You've caught on to the fact that Noa and I have been hiding something from you."

Mokuba frowned. "Noa said Malik did something. Gave you something."

Seto nodded, reached under his coat, and revealed an object that Mokuba found instantly, unnervingly, familiar: it was the golden rod that Malik Ishtar had carried during the Battle City Tournament, so many eternities ago. In Seto's hand, it rested easily, naturally; that, more than anything else, put Mokuba back on his guard.

"You know what this is," Seto said.

"The Millennium Rod," Mokuba answered promptly.

"You have spoken to Yugi Mutou about what he calls 'the other me,' haven't you?"

Mokuba's frown deepened. "Um…yeah. Yami. Atemhotep. The king."

Seto nodded. "For the sake of argument, let us assume that Mutou hasn't been lying all these years, and that somehow someone who has been dead more than four thousand years can inhabit a piece of jewelry, and possess the body if whomever holds it."

"O…kay?"

"Another king …Yami's own replacement, in fact, can pull the same parlor trick."

"Sethos?" Mokuba asked.

"Sethos," Seto repeated. "Seti. He has apparently taken up residence in this hunk of…desert-glitter, as Noa has taken to calling it, and has claimed me to be his…vessel."

This wasn't right.

Of all the things Seto might have wanted to talk about, of all the topics Mokuba could ever have thought up, this was the _one_ which half-convinced the young Kaiba that he was dreaming, and the words coming out of his big brother's mouth were a garbled-up mish-mash that he had picked up from Yugi.

"I could hide this from you," Seto went on. "I could work this out on my own. I could convince myself that this would only frighten you, or else unnerve you, and that everything would best be served if you were never told about this. But lying by omission has never served me adequately in the past."

"…You're not making any sense."

"I know I'm not. I'm spouting bullshit. But that is apparently the lot into which I've been cast, and I'm not about to let it get the better of me by closing my eyes to it. Yet another tactic that's never done me any favors."

Mokuba bit his bottom lip.

"I wanted to tell you this so that you know: if I do anything that seems out of character for me. If I frighten you, or upset you, or do anything that you feel betrays anything I've ever promised or taught you, it is because of this very simple reason: I am apparently no longer the sole occupant of my own skin. This Sethos, as you call him. This Seti. He is now a part of me. And until I figure out what to do to appease him or get rid of him, I want you to be on your guard. That means from me, too. I cannot trust myself to hold firm against this. I've already slipped far too many times. Noa saw it. You've seen it. Now you know what it is."

"Niisama, you're scaring me. Why are you…? What are you…?"

Seto stepped nearer to Mokuba and knelt down in front of him. Pulling the black-haired boy into a hug, Seto whispered, "I don't know, little one. I don't have answers this time. That's the problem. This is what I and Noa have tried to hide from you. I've been fucking possessed. Watch out for yourself until I work this out, baby brother. I love you, I'm proud of you, and I'm so sorry if I've let you forget that." He kissed Mokuba's temple.

When Seto leaned back, the child's mouth went dry.

The eyes into which Mokuba Kaiba had looked for comfort, guidance, and protection ever since he'd been old enough to know what any of those words meant; the blazing cobalt eyes that always looked forward and never faltered, weren't the eyes he saw set into his brother's face.

Glittering, ice-colored eyes bore into him, and an unfamiliar sort of sneer rose on Seto's lips that sent a shiver down Mokuba's spine. He had never once seen such a look directed at him before. Seto's hands let go of him, and those eyes stared at those hands like they were somehow tainted.

The man who was Seto, and yet was not Seto, leaned back and sat on his heels.

"So…tell me, boy. What, exactly, is so special about you? You look entirely too mundane to me."

The accent was thick, foreign, and Mokuba's entire body went stiff.

What happened next happened too fast to keep track of; the door flew open, a blur of white, a grunt of effort, and all of a sudden Seto's body was held back against the wall.

Left hand clenching into a fist that could crush stone, right forearm pushed against Seti's throat, Noa Kaiba looked so livid that any words that might be used to describe it shrank away into a corner. His voice was a coiled serpent, his eyes were flinty coals from the deepest depths of hell's torture chambers, and for a moment Mokuba could swear that the man's teeth were sharp.

Noa snarled: "…Learn your _fucking_ place."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Seti's eyes narrowed. "I was only making conversation. Are you simply looking for an excuse to usurp me, pretender? False prince? Homunculus? You dare not only to show yourself to me, not only to touch me, but to make demands of me."

"You're goddamned right, I'll make demands of you, you pretentious fucking mental disorder." Noa's voice was as cold as winter-tempered steel. "You're not Seto Kaiba. You're not a king, or a priest, or a god, or a monster, or whatever else you think you are. You're just as much a pretender as I am, and you don't even have your own body to manipulate, so you go ahead and insult me however you please. Doesn't change the fact that I've got you pinned to the fucking wall."

Seti's body pushed against Noa's arm, but the machine-made-man didn't budge. This obviously wasn't what the spirit had expected, because his iceberg eyes widened just the slightest bit.

"Noa…?" Mokuba asked, pitifully.

"Get out of here, Mokuba," Noa commanded. "Go to your room. Lock the door. If you hear anything, call Yugi." The middle Kaiba turned his eyes spasmodically. _"Move!"_

Mokuba bolted from the room.

"I simply wished to understand something about my descendant's priorities. You needn't turn this into a clash of wills," Seti said.

"Fuck you," Noa hissed. "You've got designs to 'intercede' on Seto's behalf. To teach him where his priorities ought to lie. You don't think Mokuba is nearly as important as Seto does, so you're inclined to fix the situation into something more in-tune with what you want. You want Seto to go digging for gold. You want Seto to go prancing around the country looking for the god-fucking Millennium Items. And since Seto's more concerned about Mokuba than he is about you, you've got it into your pathetic head to be insulted. Well, that's what I'm here for. You lay a finger on that boy, I'll play hopscotch in your chest cavity."

"You won't hurt me. You'll only hurt Seto."

Noa grinned. "Well, then. It's a good thing I'm not too fond of Seto, now, isn't it?"

"You, who are so concerned for the boy, would harm his brother."

"Fuck yes, I would. If all I have to do to keep him away from you is make him hate me, then you've made it too easy. We clear, fuck-stick? You are not to touch him, speak to him, _look_ at him. Don't expect to reason with me, Seti. I'm insane, narcissistic, and I don't like you. You will never convince me of anything. So long as you use that body for whatever delusional purpose you have, consider me your warden."

"What is so vital about this child? Why do the both of you, and my cousin, regard him so highly as to act so idiotically?"

Noa clenched a fist around Seti's neck and launched him over his shoulder and onto the ground. Placing a foot onto his brother's chest, Noa stared down at him like a god from His Heaven. "I don't recall giving you permission to ask questions."

A scowl, a grunted curse, and suddenly the eyes were dark again.

"…That will do, Noa," Seto said, in his own voice.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Noa most pointedly did _not _hold out a hand to help Seto stand up. As the eldest Kaiba rose to his feet, the middle one said, "So…now that we've scared the wits out of the one we're trying to protect…what's the plan, Aniki?"

It was this self-directed anger, whether it was natural or carefully cultivated, that proved there was more to Noa's resemblance to Seto than his looks; when the subject was Mokuba, if nothing else, Noa matched Seto's emotional makeup as well.

He brooked no excuses, even from himself.

Seto closed his eyes. "Seti is…angry. I'll handle him. I have control for the moment. If I must…I'll consult Mutou."

"A hard sell, I'm sure," Noa said. "But you might wanna cut right to the last resort this time. Much as I don't like to admit it, he knows this shit. So…what about me? Protection detail? Rampant homicide? I'm fine with either."

"Take Mokuba to Roland. Gather the entire security team. Put him up somewhere." Seto hesitated for a long, painful moment. "…Don't tell me where."

Noa nodded. "Will do."

"Damn it. I suppose I've a meeting to keep." Seto snatched up his keys from his desk, then reached into a drawer and retrieved a pistol. After long consideration, he put the weapon back, slammed the drawer shut with nearly enough force to splinter the wood, and shot past Noa toward the door.

"Noa," Seto said, as he turned the knob. "I'm trusting you. I heard you, while he had control. I know you are willing to…do what must be done. If he poses a threat to my boy's safety, you'd damn well better be ready to put a bullet through my heart."

"I'm not nearly that romantic," Noa replied, smirking. "I'll aim for the head."

Seto returned the smirk, and turned away.

"…Good."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Days passed.

Isis Ishtar's mythology class came and went, and Mokuba Kaiba did not attend. He was staying in a Motel 6 outside of Domino's limits, where Seto's private security team tried to distract him with games and cartoons, and Roland Ackerman held down the fort at Kaiba-Corp.

Nobody seemed to know where Seto was. The company had yet to collapse in spite of its two leaders having vanished off the face of the earth—so far as they knew, the Kaibas were on vacation, an event that surely marked the beginning of the Apocalypse—but it was fast becoming…hectic.

Yugi Mutou, too, had disappeared.

The Ishtar siblings knew these things, and knew why they had happened, but somewhere in the backs of their minds they were convinced that Seto and Mokuba could handle themselves, and it was likely that Yugi was with them, wherever they were.

They told themselves that the Kaibas were safe.

Isis, Rishid, and Malik returned home after a movie, three days after these disappearances, talking and laughing and generally enjoying each other's company. Isis entered their apartment first, flipped on the lights, and felt the smile slough from her face as her entire body went stiff as an ice statue.

Sitting on the living room couch, with one leg crossed over the other and his arms splayed out against the back cushions, was a young man in white. He had a traditional Chinese-styled white shirt, white slacks, navy blue socks and gleaming, polished brown shoes. His windswept bangs had been dyed a light, aqua green; the rest of his hair was a darker shade, nigh on blue.

Noa Kaiba's eyes, shaded by his newly-colored hair, were blistering.

"The door was unlocked," he murmured softly, silkily, almost purring. "I let myself in. Hope you don't mind."

Isis drew in a steadying breath. "…I locked that door myself. What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to talk, Doctor Ishtar." Noa smiled, gesturing grandly. "Please. Don't pretend that you don't know why. We're all intelligent, well-bred adults here, aren't we? Your brother gave my brother a gift. And because of that gift, my brother is now plagued with an angry spirit, demanding that he find…certain artifacts, in exchange for autonomy of his own body. Your brother, on the other hand, is sneaking Reese's cups into a movie theater, and playing Facebook games on his phone during the boring parts."

Isis swallowed nervously. "Malik. Rishid—"

"Come in," Noa said, and it was a command; not a request. "I want to talk to you, too. It would be bothersome if I had to go out and…find you. Don't leave."

The two Ishtar men flanked their sibling. Malik's eyes were narrowed. "Have you been following us?" he asked.

Noa's eyebrows raised. "Oh. I'm sorry. Was that presumptuous of me? I suppose I should have found a piece of haunted jewelry to give you before I decided to become a stalker. Like you did."

It was Malik's turn to flinch. His eyes flared with anger.

Isis held up a hand. "Malik. Enough. What's happened? Are your cousins…? Are they…well?"

"Don't be thick. You know damned well who I am. I'm just like you, Doctor Ishtar. The middle child. The underestimated genius. My _brothers_ are alive,if that's what you mean to ask. Which is lucky for you."

"You're right," Malik said. "I _do _know who you are. So don't play innocent, Kaiba. You don't get to threaten me. You've committed just as many crimes as I have."

"I'll threaten whomever I damn well please," Noa replied, smiling. "What _I've _done is neither here nor there. Right now, as we speak, a little boy is crying himself to sleep, and that has nothing to do with _me. _That's on _your _head."

Rishid spoke next: "We are not here to pass judgment on past misdeeds. Malik, please. Be quiet a moment. Mister Kaiba, what has happened to your brothers? Are they in danger?"

Noa's expression turned passably pleasant when he looked at Rishid; he seemed to like the man. But as Noa uncrossed his legs and stood up, his eyes turned dark and opaque again. "That, unfortunately, is yet to be determined. Considering the track record of this city, and my family, when it comes to magic…yes. They are. And that _bothers _me, as I'm sure you can imagine. Especially considering I already warned you about this Millennium Item business. I believe I made myself quite clear when I told you that I didn't want you near my family." He was staring straight into Malik's soul now. "Now, either you are irretrievably stupid when it comes to human communication, or you've gotten it into your idiotic little head that I am less of a threat than a ghost hiding in an old knife."

The middle Kaiba snatched out a hand and coiled it around Malik's still-injured own. The former tomb-keeper howled with sudden agony. Noa pulled him close.

"You listen to me, _insect, _then draw your conclusions. Seti is a spirit, four thousand years dead, able to inhabit the body of anyone weak enough to let him through. My brother is fighting to keep him contained, and Yugi Mutou is helping him. Seti's motivations involve the Millennium Items, and he no longer has any interest in you whatsoever. I, on the other hand, am a machine. I am tangible, I don't fatigue, I don't sleep, I'm three times stronger than any human being has a right to be, and I _fucking hate you. _So. Who's the bigger threat now?"

"Noa, please—" Isis began, holding up her hands.

"_You _shut your mouth!" Noa snarled through clenched teeth. "You're the one who _started_ this goddamned circus! Without _you, _the God Cards would still be a fucking urban legend! _You _prompted Seto to start Battle City!" Noa crunched Malik's hand until his bones scraped, then tossed him aside, as if too disgusted to touch him anymore. "You all have blood on your hands."

He stopped for a moment, considering. Then Noa continued.

"But you _are _correct on one score. I do, too. I wronged them. My brothers. I put their lives at risk, I manipulated them, I tried to tear them apart. I hurt them. I nearly ruined them. But do you know what happened? Because Mokuba is a kinder, gentler person than I have any right to expect, I am here. After nearly killing them, my brothers brought me back into this world. Mokuba forgave me, treated me like family. He made me a promise to find me a new body, and he kept it. And since then, he has provided me the love and support that my own, blood family never bothered to give, without reservation. I have spent every waking moment since I first showed up here, in a hospital bed with a body made of synthetic parts, trying to repay that debt."

He turned back toward the couch. All three Ishtars were still near the door, and made no effort to fully enter the apartment. The door was still open.

"Mokuba decided to take a chance on you, too, Malik Ishtar. He apologized for treating you badly, that first day in your sister's class, and returned there to learn from you. You, who kidnapped him, threatened his life, and nearly murdered the man he loves more than anyone or anything on this earth. _He _apologized to _you. _Malik Ishtar. Even though you have never done him a single kindness, never proven yourself to be anything but a sociopathic megalomaniac in his eyes, never even told him that you regret the crimes you committed against him."

Isis wanted to speak. So badly, she wanted to speak. But she held her tongue.

She didn't want to provoke this man. He was a demon.

Noa said, slowly, "Have you deluded yourself into thinking you're a good person? That Seto's hatred of you, that _my _hatred of you, is somehow _wrong? _That you have _any _right to be offended by what we think of you? _I _spend every moment of the day trying to reclaim my life and _somehow _repay the people who have done more justice to my family's legacy than any blood member ever has! I killed my own _father _to atone for my sins! _I _rightfully call myself a monster for what I did to them!"

Noa took hold of Isis's shoulder and shoved her aside to free up the doorway, stepping through it.

"…The three of you owe a debt to my brothers. If you do not take this final chance to make up for your actions and _pay _that debt—before Seto or, God forbid, Mokuba comes to harm—then I will come back here, and I will show you how a _real _Kaiba responds to insults."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

He walked briskly, but aimlessly. Noa's blood felt like it was literally burning. He didn't know if Seti was actually a threat to Mokuba's safety. Noa had said it himself: the spirit of the Millennium Rod didn't care about Malik Ishtar anymore. He was sure of that. So why should the spirit of the Millennium Rod be concerned about Mokuba? Surely he wouldn't commit cold-blooded murder? Surely this was just a matter of pride?

Noa didn't know. He didn't trust the spirit's eyes. They reminded him too much of his father's eyes; they were the eyes of a wise man who knew all too well that he was wise. They were the eyes of well-earned, well-placed arrogance. Noa knew what such a man was capable of doing; Noa _was _such a man.

He had dyed his hair in a gesture that even he couldn't properly define. He looked the same as he had when he'd been an immortal, intangible child. The only betrayal of his old form was that he wore slacks, instead of shorts. Because he was an adult now. He was in control now. No longer was he held by the trappings of childhood.

Perhaps he wanted to deliver a message; not to the Ishtars, but to himself.

Noa didn't know.

He crossed streets, ducked behind alleys, hopped over fences, secure in the knowledge that he knew this city better, more intimately, than anyone else who lived here. Even though he had only lived here for less than a month.

_That, _at least, he knew.

Domino City at night was oppressive; the storefronts were cells, and their wardens were the statues. The sky above him was a smothering quilt held over his head so that death would come easy and without any fuss. Even during the day, Noa felt as if God were staring down at His own private ant farm. When he had _been _God, he had lorded over his private playground, plucking up people and tossing them around; Noa couldn't help but feel like there was some other God now, in this world that people thought was real.

Maybe that God had iceberg eyes, and a thick accent.

He sensed something.

Snapped out of his dreamlike pessimistic musings, Noa's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched. He did not feel threatened. Most of him _hoped _that someone would toss himself out of a dark and shadowy corner with a switchblade or a compact pistol, demanding all the fuckin' money in his wallet or I'll spill ya blood right on this 'ere concrete!

It would give Noa an excuse to practice. For the Ishtars.

An animalistic growl, deeper and more primal than anything strictly human would be able to make, worked its way out of Noa's throat. Such was his slow fury that even when he realized that he recognized the voice that called out to him— "…Mister Kaiba? Oh, no. Oh, _no._ Oh…"—some part of him was already justifying his forthcoming blasphemy.

Noa forced an image of Seto and Mokuba into the forefront of his mind, and remembered what he had said. He was never going to repay the debt that he owed his brothers if he did not hold himself to their standards. So he stayed his hand, and watched as the hunched figure in the back alley slowly, shakily, rose to his full height.

"Ryou Bakura," Noa said, idly. "You'll want to find a new place to build a clubhouse, you know. People will talk." Then he noticed the blood dripping from his unlikely companion's arms and hands; and the bodies lying sacrificially at his feet.

Noa blinked, looking surprised for the barest of moments.

Bakura's body seemed to spasm for a moment, then stiffen, and then his face twisted into a damning facsimile of happiness. It reminded Noa of what happened when Yami took control of Yugi, and he realized that that was precisely what had happened.

Ryou had a spirit of his own.

Or, rather, a spirit had Ryou as _its _own.

"Oh, my…good evening, Kaiba. It's always an unabashed pleasure to see you." His voice seemed to warble in the night air, like it was announcing some unnatural sentience unfit for this world. "Did I frighten you…?"

Noa smiled, a facsimile all its own.

He said, "Now whatever would possess you to think that?"

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Can you see where this is going? Maybe. Can I see where this is going? Maybe not.**_

_**Yay! Noa looks like he's supposed to! You may be wondering why I changed his hair color (the question has been asked before) in the first place. The answer is Seto. I don't think Noa's hair is naturally green. Anime rarely confines itself to realistic hair colors (or styles). I think maybe Noa made his hair green in his private world because he felt like it, or maybe he had it dyed before he...died. Either way, I think Seto confined himself to nature as much as he could, and so he didn't make Noa's hair green because that's just weird. But now, Noa is claiming himself again. He changed himself, for himself. So, things are now as they should be. Sort of.**_

_**Also, the line about playing hopscotch in Seti's chest cavity...might have been lifted from Borderlands 2. I couldn't resist. Normally I would blame Noa for this, claiming that he stole the line without my consent, but considering the timeline of this story, that doesn't work; so I guess it's on me.**_

_**I'm in the middle of writing an original novel for the event known as Camp NaNoWriMo right now. The goal is to write 100,000 words in 30 days. So far, I have 16,000 under my belt. Not as far as I need to be.**_

_**So I won't be updating for a while. But I had this ready, so I decided to take a break this morning and polish it up for posting.**_

_**I recently checked the Legacy User Stats on my profile. It has been brought to my attention that I have archived a total of 972,197 words over the course of my 11 years on this site.**_

_**This is huge for me. I'm inching up on 1 million words. So obviously, I must break that record. It's now actively in my sights, and I'll have to do something big when it happens. I'm not sure what, but that's a pretty big freaking milestone, and I hope you'll join me as we head into the home stretch.**_

_**Also, if any of you would like to keep track of how I'm doing with my first major foray into original fiction—that is, my Camp NaNoWriMo project—I'm posting it over at my personal blog, which I can't link here because of regulations, or whatever. It's a Blogspot blog called "The Cottage at the Edge of Forever." Each day I'll be putting up a day's worth of work, so that you all can see what my writing looks like when it's…well, raw.**_

_**No filtering, no backtracking, no fact-checking. Just creative abandon. Just like the event says it should be.**_

_**Hope to see you there. And I hope you enjoyed this chapter.**_


	21. A Calling of the King's Court

_**Coming off a NaNoWriMo marathon session over the weekend wherein I wrote 15,000 words and gave myself a bit of wiggle room, I decided to take a break and work on something else.**_

_**This is the result. But first, a few thoughts, if you will indulge me.**_

_**There's something about Noa that has come to bear, and it's something he shares with Yami. That is, you can never truly believe almost anything he says. I hesitate to say that he is a complete sociopath, but remember whenever you read him that he's close. Damn close.**_

_**Last time, Noa told the Ishtars that he spends every waking moment trying to repay a debt that he owes his brothers. This might seem out of character, and the question was raised as to whether it was. Here is my understanding of it:**_

_**Familial pride and fidelity is one of the only feelings Noa still fully understands. The rest of his emotions are probably wrecked. But at this point in the story, it is only his family that matters to him. Seto is the only person he respects; Mokuba is the only person he loves.**_

_**He does what he wants, when he wants, because he is a true Kaiba, and that carries with it more than a fair share of arrogance. Arrogance coupled with a lack of general empathy makes for an unpredictable powder keg. What holds him in check is his family.**_

_**That is what he meant.**_

_**You might wonder why I say that's what "he" meant, rather than what "I" meant.**_

_**I'm here as an intermediary. I'm just the storyteller. I don't dictate Noa's actions.**_

_**No one tells a Kaiba what to do, or how to act, except another Kaiba.**_

_**Case in point:**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

They might have expected Mokuba Kaiba to look like a nervous wreck after being separated from his beloved brother for a week, but actually, the young Kaiba looked reasonably well put together; he wasn't smiling his usual toothy smile, and his eyes weren't sparkling, but he didn't look frightened, or depressed.

He looked grim, and angry.

He greeted Joey, and Tristan, and the others, cordially enough. He instructed Vincent Zika, who was on security when they arrived, to set out refreshments for them. He was as gracious a host as they might have expected from any wealthy benefactor, and for a while they forgot that they were sequestered in a cheap motel room that didn't even belong to Mokuba.

When Yugi stepped into the room, however, Mokuba's eyes flared with a Kaiba's anger and he demanded: "Where's my brother? What's happening to him? What are you doing to stop it?"

Yugi smiled. Yami was in control. He said, "Kaiba is handling things well enough. He and my cousin are…matching wills, so to speak. Do not fear for him, Mokuba. I assure you that all this business is merely a matter of wills. The reason you have been hidden away is just in case four thousand years have addled Seti's mind to the point that he would do something…rash."

"What do you mean by that?" Mokuba asked sharply.

"I mean, little one, that Seti is impatient with your brother. You see, the reason that the Millennium Items have returned to their owners is that, somewhere along the line, my attempt to put them to rest hit a snag. The gods rejected my gift to them, and the task has now been delegated to another. Kaiba has been chosen by the gods, by which I mean _my _gods, of course, to gather the Millennium Items under his ownership, and lay claim to the power therein."

Mokuba frowned. "…When you got the Millennium Items last time, Niisama told me you just disappeared. That you died. Are you telling me that this spirit in the Millennium Rod wants my brother to do the same thing? He's trying to kill my Niisama?"

Yami held up a hand. "Not at all. I died because I was already dead. You may notice that Yugi remained well and truly alive, after I left him. If Kaiba opts to take this mission he has been given, then the same thing will happen to him, if he so chooses. Seti will pass on into the afterlife, such as it is, and Kaiba will remain here."

"What do you mean about this 'power therein?'" Mokuba's eyes narrowed. "They're weapons. Aren't they?"

"The Millennium Items are the keys to reality." Yami gestured grandly. "Into human minds, hearts, souls. Into the future. Into the realm of dreams. Each of the Seven has a specific purpose. Each represents a different facet of power. Yugi and I chose to let them sleep, once we had them gathered. Kaiba might well choose the same thing. Or, alternatively, he may lay claim to the power, and become a god."

It should have been ludicrous, this conversation. Certainly Vincent looked thoroughly nonplussed, and he itched to throw these psychotic idiots out on their asses. Kaiba-shachou certainly wouldn't want these people filling his heir's head with such errant stupidity.

But something about Mokuba's expression, something about the way it exuded Seto's very _being, _stayed the young man's hand. He knew that to do such a thing in Seto's presence, without permission, would be tantamount to handing in his resignation; he wasn't going to cross Mokuba at this moment, either.

Mokuba's little motel room was filled with people before long. Yami called them "the king's court," and seemed to find this the height of amusement. Everyone that the Kaibas had ever associated with during the "Mutou Years," as they were called by staff, soon showed up in Mokuba's little room. There was even a representative from Industrial Illusions, standing in for Pegasus Crawford.

Mokuba continued talking to Yami, as though none of the others were there.

"I understand that you are concerned about your brother," Yami said eventually, "and trust me when I tell you that I'm just as concerned. But you should know that Kaiba doesn't cave. That's the only reason he's taking this so seriously. Seti would never do anything to hurt you, Mokuba. Even if he wanted to, _I _wouldn't let him. Your brothers _certainly _wouldn't let him. Kaiba is embroiled in this fight because he refuses to share his body with anyone, or anything, else."

Mokuba's face had become more and more a facsimile of his brother's as the afternoon wore on.

"The real issue at hand," Yami eventually said, "is the fact that the Millennium Items have returned to their previous owners. This means, Mokuba, that Pegasus Crawford has his eye again." The young Kaiba went slightly pale at this; he hadn't thought of that. "It also means that Ryou Bakura has the ring. And Shadi, the scales and ankh. The only Item which has passed hands is the Rod, having rejected Malik Ishtar in favor of Kaiba."

Malik, who was standing off to the side in one corner, looked down at his right hand and grimaced. He hadn't made eye contact with Mokuba once since his arrival.

"You said Niisama has to find the rest of them," Mokuba said. "You just said they're already found. The people who used to have them, have them again."

"Kaiba must take the items from their owners. More importantly, he must _win _them. These artifacts are not simple trinkets which can be bought and sold. They are…well, think of it like Harry Potter. A magic wand cannot simply be given to another witch or wizard, once it has been claimed. Can it?"

Mokuba blinked; an ancient spirit, citing modern-day, British children's literature. "…No," he said, and almost—almost—laughed. "They have to be earned. Won."

"Precisely. Think of the Millennium Items like those magic wands. They are provincial. Protective. They will not function properly for anyone who has not earned the privilege of their power. So, in order to gain access to the remaining six Gems of the Golden Cradle, Kaiba has to…ahem…duel for them."

Mokuba raised a sardonic eyebrow. "…Seriously?" he asked, deadpan.

"I don't mean cards," Yami said, chuckling. "Not this time. Things are much more serious this time around. It's not…quite as simple. I mean that he must prove to the Items themselves that he is better fit to use them than their owners. He must be tested. That is his task."

"Where is he?" Mokuba pressed. "Where is my Niisama?"

"I'm afraid I have been instructed by Kaiba not to disclose his location, even to you. He wants to make sure that he has my cousin well in hand before showing himself again. I know that this is an inadequate answer, and I apologize for that inadequacy, but that is all I can tell you."

He looked around the group that surrounded him. "This situation is dangerous for us all. Even if Kaiba does elect to do his part in this glorious destiny, there is still the matter of Ryou Bakura, Pegasus Crawford, and Shadi. These three individuals, aside from being nearly immeasurably powerful, are most likely to strike directly, rather than waiting for Kaiba's involvement. My experience with them has shown me that to underestimate any one of them is a capital mistake. I have brought you all here to discuss this problem. What might we do, not only to streamline things for Kaiba, should he embark on the path to power, but to safeguard ourselves. So, before I begin, are there any questions? Anything that needs to be clarified?"

"Yes," a new voice rang out from near the door. "I have a question."

Yami glanced over.

Kay Mayer stood with her arms crossed over her chest. "…Why am _I _here?"

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Ryou Bakura woke up, wholly himself again, just as dappled morning sunlight coated his face. His eyes flared open, and he shot upward like he was starring in a movie and he'd just been thrust out of a nightmare. The silence that pervaded the white-haired teen's home was a sentience, and Ryou found that he couldn't shake the idea; no matter how often he told himself that something as innocuous as quiet couldn't be a threat in and of itself, he still felt an undeniable instinct that something—dangerous was waiting for him to close his eyes again.

The spirit. Had the spirit of the Ring taken him again?

Ryou stood up, gingerly, and looked down at himself. He was dressed in a set of pajamas that he didn't remember putting on the night before. There was no…blood. None. Whenever he was taken by the spirit, there was always blood. On his shirt, or his arms, or under his fingernails. Ryou studied his hands and found nothing amiss.

He felt somehow peaceful.

Then he heard a sound, something sharp and painful in the quiet, and his spine shuddered. For a reason that he couldn't quite pinpoint, Ryou elected to rush out of his room and chase the sound, rather than hide from it.

He found that he was tired of hiding. It never worked.

At least, if he rushed headlong forward, it would probably be over more quickly.

In the kitchen, Ryou saw someone. For one wild moment he thought it was his father, come home at last. Had his father discovered the truth of the last gift he'd ever given his son? Had he found some way to _stop _the spirit from—

But it wasn't his father.

His father's hair wasn't green.

A man that Ryou couldn't place, but nonetheless found immediately familiar, was milling about his kitchen. He turned. The man had Kaiba's face. Seto Kaiba, the man, the myth, the legend, was in his kitchen? How in the—

But no. Kaiba didn't have green hair, either.

The man whirled, and bowed with a flourish. "Morning, Princess," he said, laughter in his light blue eyes as he stood up straight again. "Noa Kaiba, at your service." The voice did not match Kaiba, but all the same he had a similar _aura. _Not that Ryou had ever had much interaction with the CEO of the Kaiba Corporation—the _de facto _king of Domino City—but nonetheless, there was something familiar at work here.

"Good…morning? I don't believe that we have met."

Noa laughed. "No, no, I suppose we haven't. Hope you don't mind me hanging around your house like this. See, I found you in a back alley last night, over by R & J Meat Market? Shady place. Anyway, you weren't exactly in good shape, so what I did, is I checked your ID. Looked for your address. I knew the area, so I thought I'd take you home. Wanted to make sure you were ship shape before I left, so I thought I'd wait 'til you woke up."

Ryou wasn't sure what it was about this man's voice that was so—slick. But his smile seemed genuine enough. Hopefully. Ryou said, "I was…out last night? Did I…?"

Noa seemed to calculate something. Then he said, "The way I understand it, or at least the way Yugi Mutou interprets it, is you've got yourself one of these, ah, Millennium Items. Right? And I guess there's a ghost or something inside of it."

Ryou didn't miss the dismissive anger in the man's voice at this juncture, and thought it must be a family trait.

"Anyway, whatever it was, this thing had a hold on you last night. Covered in blood. Got the moves like Dahmer." This last was accompanied by a little dance that was thoroughly _un-_Kaiba. "Doing all sorts of things that a good boy like you wouldn't be caught dead doing, I'm sure."

Good boy? Was that an insult?

"…Bakari."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"That's…the spirit's name. Bakari." Ryou lowered his eyes, then raised them again. "Whatever this is, whether it's an ancient spirit, or a psychotic break, or whatever…its name is Bakari. It's a monster. I…I don't _want_ to do the things it makes my body do! I _don't!_ But…but…!"

Noa smiled. It was a bright, friendly sort of smile.

"Whoa, whoa, there, chief. Take it easy. Come on, now. You're gonna want to keep yourself calm 'n collected, here." He pulled up a chair and gestured for Ryou to sit. "Look. This Bakari you've got, he's a wicked number. I'll admit that. Almost had me a couple times. But nothing to worry about. See, my brother, you'd know him as Seto-sama 'round these parts, he's dealing with a similar kind of thing right now." Noa found a second chair and sat down when Ryou did.

Seto's brother. Mokuba's brother.

Which meant…

"Gozaburo's son," Ryou murmured. Noa quirked an eyebrow. "You're Gozaburo Kaiba's son. Aren't you? Yugi told me about you. He said you were killed when you were little, and your father put you into this virtual space, where you could keep living. Only it…made you go crazy." Ryou flinched at the flare in Noa's eyes. "Sorry! I'm sorry! I meant…I meant it _affected _you. And…and Yugi said that you eventually figured out that your father was—was using you. And you switched sides, and saved him; Yugi, and Joey, and Mister Kaiba and little Mokuba…and everybody."

Noa's expression softened. "…Yeah. Yeah, that's me."

"I'm sorry that you…had to see it."

"Your other half?" Noa asked, smirking. It looked like the natural set of his face. "It was a ride, I'll say that much. Strong. Tenacious. Kind of rape-y. Is that a word? This Bakari character, whatever he is, he's got some deep-seated issues."

Ryou actually found a smile, hidden somewhere in the back half of his mind.

Then he flinched.

"Wait. It was…awake? And you—stopped it? Stopped Bakari? You…overpowered it?"

"Yup. Wasn't expecting me to take what he was dishing out. Didn't figure I'd be strong enough. But when Aniki brought me back, he saw fit to build me like Frankenstein's monster, I guess. This body of mine can take a lot more punishment than most people. Dishes it out pretty good, too. Seems even an evil spirit can't raise much hell when it's knocked unconscious with a brick. Sorry 'bout that. I cleaned up the wound as much as I could, but you might be stuck with a scar."

Ryou reached up gingerly, and found that his right temple had a thick bandage on it. "Oh. Oh, that's…okay. I think. I just…I can't believe you _stopped _it!"

Noa's face turned serious. "You were with a couple of people when I found you. Or…Bakari was. Duke Devlin. You know him?" Ryou nodded, face suddenly turning almost as pale as his hair. "He'll make it. Some serious injuries, but he'll manage. I got him to a hospital in time. Told the cops I found you guys, looked like a pretty serious mugging. You might have some blue-suits coming by today to question you about it. Anyway, Duke will make it. His friend, though. His friend was six ways dead when I showed up. Sorry. Couldn't do anything for him."

Ryou, stricken, settled back into his chair and stared at his hands.

Noa sighed. "Look. Ryou. That's your name, right? Ryou?" A nod. "A little while back, this spirit my brother's dealing with, his name's Seti. A while back, Seti tried to threaten our kid brother." Here Noa smiled softly. "Little Mokuba. That's cute, by the way. I like that. Anyway, Seti was talking about how 'mundane' he was, and asking what was so important about him. I grew up with a man who'd fit right at home in a mafia movie, okay? I know what a veiled threat sounds like. I stopped Seti from doing anything. But think about it for a second, okay? Should I blame Seto for that? You know my brother. Aniki would rip off his own arms before he hurt Mokuba."

Ryou smiled. He _did_ know that. He'd known it sooner than most of his friends, he felt confident in saying.

"It wasn't Seto," Noa continued. _"Seti _threatened the little guy, and it's _his _ass on the line for it. Same goes for you. So I don't wanna hear you talking about how you killed somebody, or hurt somebody, or whatever else is going through your head right now—I can see it in those pretty brown eyes of yours—because of whatever that fuck-job Bakari did while he wore your skin. Not unless you're going to admit that Seto Kaiba threatened his li'l brother. Got me?" Noa's eyes flashed. "And if you start thinking that, I'll have to have _words _with you."

Ryou found a smile again, and nodded. "I…I understand what you're saying. Noa. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Noa stood up, went to the stove and glanced up at the cabinets. "Now, as partial payment for crashing at your place without prior warning, how about I make something for breakfast? You and I, we're gonna be bunkmates for a little while, I think."

Ryou blinked. "What?"

"I've heard horror stories of what Bakari can do when he's got his hooks in you." Noa's eyes turned hard. "Aniki has the Millennium Rod now. Chances are, the only way he's going to get rid of Seti is if he goes 'n gathers up the other six. Like Yugi and Yami did before. The way they tell it, Yugi's 'tribute' was denied by the gods, or whatever. So they sent the items back to their old owners, and want someone to try again. They picked my brother. That's why Bakari is back, see? Why the Millennium Ring is back."

Ryou's breathing slowed. "I…see."

"So," Noa continued, "the way I figure it is this: if Bakari is allowed to go free-reign ape-shit around the city again, he's gonna find out about this. If he doesn't know already. And he's gonna go on the attack. Bakari knows about Mokuba, doesn't he?" Noa looked suddenly suspicious, and Ryou nodded hurriedly. "He's gonna know that the way to get to Aniki is to go after his baby. And knowing Seto, he's going to agree to whatever Bakari's terms are, because he doesn't really give a shit about the Millennium Items. Now, I was_ all_ about that. I thought he'd do far better to just ditch the whole enterprise and get back to what really matters. But if Aniki doesn't do this, doesn't gather the Items himself, then Bakari is going to try. And now that I've _met_ that motherfucker…I don't think I like that idea."

Ryou smiled, self-deprecatingly. "Bakari has that effect on people."

"So here's what we're gonna do, you and I," Noa continued. "I'm going to hang around here. Watch out for signs. Make sure he doesn't pull any shit. And _you _are going to take it easy for a while. I know your story, Ryou Bakura. You've had a raw deal. You're broken. No two ways around it. And the only way you're gonna get your life back is if you learn how to…handle it. I don't mean get over it, because that's a myth. The best any of us can do is face up to life's shit-storms and find an umbrella." The green-haired Kaiba scrunched up his face, as if he wasn't fond of the metaphor he'd just devised. He shook his head.

"Not…not to say I don't—appreciate this," Ryou said, unsure if he could _dare _to let the hope blossoming in his chest fully bloom, "but…why are you doing this? I mean, helping me? Why didn't you just…just…?"

"Kill you when Bakari had control?" Noa asked.

Ryou nodded somberly. "Yes."

"That's what my father would have done. Call it youthful rebellion." A pause. "And besides…Yugi failed you." Ryou flinched. "You put all your hopes in him, to get rid of this spirit that's been ruining your life, and for a while it looked like he did it. He looked like a savior. But now it turns out he fucked it up. So now…I want you, just like the rest of them, to see what happens when you put your trust in a Kaiba."

He winked.

Ryou smiled. "Okay, then." He didn't trust this man, but he had very little to trust in, anyway. Doubt was something he was used to feeling these days, and one false savior was as good as the next. And besides…Noa Kaiba had apparently stopped the spirit of the Ring once.

That made him at _least _as qualified as Yugi.

Ryou looked down at himself, at the pajamas he wore. "Wait," he said. "You said I was covered in blood. And I know I wasn't wearing pajamas when I—" Ryou's mouth opened, and his face went red.

Noa waited, an idle sort of look on his face.

"…Did you _bathe _me?!"

The green-haired young man raised an eyebrow again, and didn't answer.

But as he turned back to the cabinet, Ryou saw an amused little smile playing at his lips.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Seto Kaiba was a stubborn bastard.

That was, more than anything else about him, the defining trait of his existence; it was what contributed to his highest successes, and his most resounding failures. He had survived his childhood because he was a stubborn bastard. He had taken over Kaiba-Corp because he was a stubborn bastard. He had defeated Pegasus Crawford, in his own way, because he was a stubborn bastard, and he had kept his brother happy and healthy through all of that…because he was a stubborn bastard.

It looked now as if Seti I, former king of Egypt, was going to murder him because he was a stubborn bastard.

"Answer the damned question, you obstinate ox!" Seti snarled, slamming his hands on the dining table where they did their—convening.

Seto simply raised a quiet eyebrow and did not speak.

"What do you think this mission _is, _boy? Do you think it is optional? A bit of fun, a diversion? It is _holy work! _You spit upon the gods in your hubris!"

Again, Seto did not rise to the bait.

He leaned back in his chair and stared straight ahead.

It had been this way for days. Seto had retained control of himself just long enough to ensure that he would not descend upon the city. He lived isolated, alone, entirely idle, locked away. It infuriated him. But it also kept him out of the arena, and for that he tolerated it. He would wake, make a kettle of tea, eat. He would spend the day researching the Millennium Items; he would haunt well-documented historical sources, and he would scour fringe forums and amateur's blogs. If he was to take full hold of this situation, then he had to be informed; and since he had no specific expertise, he was in no position to determine which sources were valid.

At night, he would shower, and sleep.

He had kept up this routine ever since he'd entered the hotel, and in the thrall of this monotony, he battled with Seti.

Everything about Seto's current situation grated on his nerves, on his mind, and on whatever served him for a soul. The idleness, the uselessness, the insanity of it, careened with everything he had ever come to believe, everything he had built.

On the outside, he looked as impeccably dressed and prepared as he ever did. His suits were pressed, his creases crisp, his shoes polished. In the midst of his mental imaginings, however, Seto Kaiba was dead. Or else dying.

It wasn't until halfway through the sixth day of having the spirit of Seti screech at him that Seto finally reacted. He turned his head to look upon the creature for which his body had become a prison; when Seto's image was made manifest in his "soul room," his hair was matted, his clothes rumpled, his eyes dark and listless, matching his mental state.

Seto said, "…I will do nothing you ask. I refuse you, and your gods. If that is grounds for my death or damnation, then get on with it. My life is what I determine it to be. My priorities are what I set for myself. You are nothing. Not only to me, but to every living thing currently on this earth. To change oneself for nothing is the cleanest possible definition of madness. I will not do it."

Then he turned his head back to its neutral position, and continued to stare blankly at the wall.

Seti slammed his fist down onto the table, shattering his end of it. "Damn it, man! I have been patient with you! I have been subservient! I have _bowed _to you! Will you drive me to force you into this?! Must I hang that damnable _boy _over your head to push you into this work? Tell me now! Stop wasting my time! If that _bastard brat's _blood is on the line, _then _will you do the gods' work?!"

Seto smiled serenely to himself.

Seti stiffened.

"…And so you show yourself to me, Seti. You are like every…other…enemy." Seto leaned forward, placed his hands upon the still-intact side of the table where he sat, and stood up.

He shed the tired, dirty, mangled façade as he rose to his full height. It sloughed off him like a shed skin, leaving him clean, bright, and powerful.

Seto Kaiba turned his smile to the spirit; it was the most fundamentally pleasant expression anyone had ever seen cross his sharp, angular face.

The entire soul room began to catch fire, radiating out from Seto's pristine black shoes.

"…Fight me, then. Spirit. Let me show you…how obstinate I am."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Seti seems to have anger problems. And he isn't very good at keeping promises, or being consistent. This may seem like backpedaling, considering the whole "I have finally found a king" thing a couple chapters back, but I beg you trust me. I have at least a vague idea of what I'm doing here.**_

_**As for Noa…he's creepy, but I think he's well-meaning. Ish.**_

_**At the point where I stopped posting the original version of this work, "Shifting Images," Seto and his band of merry misfit toys (I may have messed that up) were on their way to collect the Millennium Items. Kisara had established herself as an involved part of the plot, and things were getting generally complicated.**_

_**Though the road is different, paved with new materials, that is the point of the plot where we currently sit. The games are about to begin. I hope you agree with me that the wait has been…well, maybe not worth it. It's been a long time. But I hope that you enjoy this version better than the old one. I certainly do.**_

_**One last thing: I was asked if the events covered in the anime ever fill a role in my stories. So far, no. They do not, except as background information. Primarily this is because I feel like the canon storyline has been given due diligence by the manga and anime. Yes, there are gaps, and errors, and problems. But the original work is a strong one; if it weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing about it eleven years after being introduced to it.**_

_**I'll very seriously consider doing some work **_**with**_** canon events, though, if it's something you are interested in seeing.**_

_**For now, though, I'll see you next time for Book Two's finale (it's not the end of the story, just the end of this section of it).**_

_**Have a great day.**_


	22. Diplomacy in Shackles

_**I opted to give the spirit of the Millennium Ring its own name last time. My main reasoning for this was that I didn't want to call it "Yami Bakura" all throughout this story. I mean, we can get away with calling the spirit of the puzzle "Yami Yugi" because, well, at the very least, he's on Yugi's side. Sort of.**_

_**It doesn't feel right to connect the spirit of the Ring to Ryou any more than it already is.**_

_**I chose "Bakari" because, according to the sources I was able to scrounge up, it's either an African (specifically Swahili) name which means "Noble Oath" or "One who Will Succeed," or else it's an Egyptian name which means "Promising."**_

_**Any one of these is more fitting for the spirit of the ring (even ironically) than Bakura, which I believe is Sanskrit for "thunderbolt." Cool as that is, it doesn't fit our sadistic little thief spirit, now, does it? Now, I know that the spirit of the ring isn't supposed to be connected to the Thief King; it's a manifestation of Zorc. Even so, there's a connection. Even if it's a nebulous one.**_

_**Speaking of Zorc…I have no idea if he'll show up in this particular narrative.**_

_**Maybe?**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

For several days, people returned to Mokuba's motel room, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for several.

Fewer and fewer came after the first week—the Ishtars, save Rishid, were some of the first to stop—but Kay Mayer was one of the consistent ones. She seemed interested in spite of herself, and Mokuba thought she kept coming only because the stories interested her; that's all they were to this girl. Stories. He wanted to be offended by her nonchalance, but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't muster up the cynicism to blame her for not believing the things that Yami told her; if Mokuba hadn't experienced the events firsthand, _he _wouldn't have believed them, either.

Right now, the spirit-turned-flesh was idly sketching the rune-ringed unicursal hexagram he called the Seal of Orichalcos with a ballpoint pen while he talked. He said, "The reason, dear one, I know your name. Your true name, the one that you haven't used in so long. That is the permeating question for you, isn't it? The fundamental mystery that keeps you interested in me, despite how much I…unnerve you."

Kay flinched; he hadn't been speaking to her mere moments before. He'd suddenly looked up, glanced at her, and asked out of the blue.

"…Yes."

"I know, dear one, because I knew you when you lived in my land." Yami smirked his usual smirk, as Kay's eyebrows raised and she began to speak again. He cut her off: "Assume, just for the moment, that the stories I've been telling you are true, and not some elaborate role-playing experiment. My name is Atemhotep, if you recall. I was a king in Manetho's Fourth Dynasty in the place you call Egypt. I lived roughly four-and-a-half millennia before now. During my time as king, a young woman came to my court. She was a strange young woman, with pale skin, icy blue eyes, and shimmering alabaster hair."

Yami gestured to Kay as if this explained something. Kay continued to stare incredulously at him.

"We were not sure, my court and I, why this woman would have come to our land. With such pale skin, how could she possibly survive? Under the unrelenting rays of Ra's holy magnificence, she could never possibly live. Not like us."

The others, Mokuba included, looked at Kay. She _was _pale. The description fit perfectly. Of course, this proved nothing. Mokuba would have suspected that the ancient spirit was playing one of his games, just to see how long he could keep this poor woman dangling along on his strings, except for the way his brother…his brother…

Mokuba spoke. "When my Niisama first saw you, Miss Mayer, it looked like he recognized you. He knew your name."

He said this often. "My Niisama." He wasn't consciously aware of it, but this possessive reference was one of the only things keeping him calm enough to engage in the conversation. It comforted him. It brought Seto's image to mind: fierce and unwavering, unrelenting, immortal.

"Prob'ly he's seen her on TV," Joey Wheeler offered. "Kaiba watches news 'n all that, right?" Mokuba nodded. Joey turned to Kay. "Look, I know this shit is insane, so I'm not gonna say anything like, 'You gotta believe us!' Just makes us look desperate 'n stupid. Could be, Kaiba keeps track o' yer dad, and he's seen you. That guy's memory is so good he could make a computer look stupid. If he's seen you once, and heard yer name attached to the face, then he knows you."

"But," Yami said, "also keep in mind that a lovely young woman not unlike you lived in my kingdom. Her name was Kisara. Had she not died in her youth, she would have become a member of my family. My cousin, Seti, wished to make this young woman his queen."

"My family must have heard the name from somewhere," Kay said. "None of what you've told me so far this week could ever be proven true. I don't want to come right out and call you a liar, but I'm not exactly convinced of anything so far."

Yami smiled gently. "I would despair, dear one, if you were this easy to manipulate."

"Seti was going to marry her?" Mokuba asked. Yami glanced at the boy. "My Niisama's…ancestor? Did he love her? Or did he just decide he wanted to take her for himself, because he was going to be king?"

"Mokuba, I assure you, Seti was…what is the phrase? Head over heels. He was _enraptured _by her." He reached out a hand and tapped the boy's locket. "He is not unlike your Niisama, little one. He has always been…attached…to his dragon."

"What do I have to do with the dragon?" Kay asked.

Yami laughed out loud. "Kisara, my dear, you _are _the dragon."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Before Kay had a chance to react to this absurdity, the phone rang, lending its incessant buzzing to the room like a horde of angry bees tired of having their voices silenced. One of the men in suits standing behind Mokuba answered it. "Good afternoon," the man said, in a falsely coquettish sort of voice. He listened for a moment, then his voice went back to its usual quiet rasp. "Mister Noa, sir. Of course. Yes, I'm—"

Mokuba lunged behind his chair for the handset like it was a religious idol that no one but he could touch. "Noa?!" the boy demanded, his eyes going wide and feverish, continuing the impression. Kay mused that when young Kaiba cradled that handset in both hands, pressing it against his ear and hoping it wouldn't disappear, was the first time she had ever seen him looking like a little boy his age _should _look in such a strange situation: lonely, scared, vulnerable.

The silence permeated, but Kay could hear the murmur of a man's voice on the other end of the line.

Mokuba nodded. "Uh-huh. Yeah. You…? Oh. Oh, okay. Okay. Yeah. Sure." A smile graced his face, and Kay thought about how Renie had said once that Mokuba Kaiba would be a future heartbreaker. He had one of the most photogenic faces she had ever seen.

So, she thought suddenly, did his brother.

A few more affirmations along this line, and Mokuba handed the phone back to his attendant. Upon hearing from someone he obviously leaned on as an authority figure, the boy paradoxically looked and acted like he'd been weakened, like he'd regressed. The strong, angry, capable boy that had been leading this dialogue for so many days was suddenly looking nervous and jumpy.

Mokuba looked at her, and Kay wondered if he could read what she was thinking in her face, because he suddenly, immaculately composed himself. He turned to the others. "Noa's coming. He says he found Ryou Bakura. The Ring's back, just like you said, Yu—Yami. He says he's going to be looking out for him for a while, to make sure the evil spirit doesn't get loose again."

Yami frowned thoughtfully. "Hmmm…" He rubbed his chin. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that might work."

"Evil spirit?" Kay echoed suspiciously, and the others turned to look at her. The current entourage—Taylor, Wheeler, Gardner, Ishtar, and Mutou—seemed somehow to have forgotten that she wasn't a part of the inner circle, and had no idea what they were blathering about.

Only young Mokuba looked unsurprised at her interjection. "Mister Bakura is like Yugi. My Niisama says it's a psychotic delusion; an—object-focused dissociative disorder." He said this last slowly, with difficulty, but he seemed pleased with himself for remembering. "He has one of the Millennium Items, like Yugi does. His is a ring." Mokuba made a round shape with his hands, roughly the width of a soccer ball.

Every time Mokuba said the words "my Niisama," he looked at once happy and angry, sad and scared, resolute and confused. Kay wondered if there had ever been a more complicated sibling relationship in the course of her life; her own seemed positively normal by comparison, which was odd because Klarissa Bevinvier née Mayer was one of the most neurotic control freaks Kay knew.

Compared to Seto Kaiba, she apparently had everything pretty well in hand.

Kay remembered the duel, and her thoughts on the man softened considerably. The child in front of her was obviously dependent on his sibling, which years of studying psychology had cynically informed her was unhealthy, but thinking back on how the man _treated _his brother, she couldn't help but think it couldn't be _that _unhealthy.

The Kaiba brothers obviously loved one another. There was no questioning _that _part of it.

Still, for the man to conjure that many complex and conflicting emotions in a little boy, just by _thinking _about him…was unsettling. She could actually hear her sister saying, "That man really needs to get his priorities in line if he's going to be a good role model."

Kay was blindsided by a sudden, _fierce _defensive instinct at this thought. Some part of her, something she didn't recognize, railed against this conceived criticism with a kind of ferocity that she'd never felt before, and suddenly her thoughts were back with the "you _are _the dragon" comment.

She noticed Yami watching her. The amusement on his face suggested that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and found it hilarious.

She scrunched up her face in a surprisingly cavalier and childish gesture at the ghost king, who laughed and bowed his head. "We have, of course, been speaking of these things as though you are well aware of them," Yami said. "We have discussed strategies and traded war stories, expecting you to simply follow them. But of course to you, dear one, Bakura, Shadi, and Crawford are just nonsense words."

"Bakura is a friend of ours," Téa said. "But when the ring is around, it forces him to do terrible things."

"As Mokuba said," Yami put in, "he is like me. Except _his _alternate is much more overtly malevolent than I." He turned to the boy. "That Noa would offer to stand guard for Bakura is actually a great weight off our shoulders. I know you are worried for your family, but there is no one in Domino City better able to stop the spirit within the Ring than he."

Mokuba scowled. "Hmph. He's doing it because he wants to make sure the spirit doesn't go after me. The spirit's going to find out that my Niisama has the Millennium Rod. It's going to want it. And it's gonna try to take it, using me. Noa's making sure that doesn't happen."

Yami nodded. "I am sure. He is quite the devoted family man, Noa Kaiba."

Mokuba looked displeased. "He's been through so much already. My Niisama's been through _too _much. I hate this. Magic keeps ruining our lives. You guys are all sitting around the campfire telling ghost stories, like this is just a grand old time. Like always, you're waiting for my Niisama to fix things. You're just finally not pretending that it _isn't _him that really saves the world."

Yami raised an eyebrow. "You're right, little one. Without your brother's assistance, I would have failed in my mission a great number of times, before my ultimate failure. That is most likely why he has been chosen to replace me. The gods, like you, have tired of him standing to the side and doing silent work, while a figurehead takes the credit."

"_I'm _tired of my family getting pulled into a bunch of superstitious crap because apparently nobody who _believes in it _is good enough to do what needs doing. You, and Malik, and Isis and everybody, you all keep yelling at my brother because he doesn't believe in any of this, but you don't get angry enough or indignant enough to tell him _not _to save your asses when the stuff you keep telling him will save the world ends up failing horribly."

Yami chuckled, while the rest of his friends—and Rishid Ishtar—lowered their eyes.

"I have no words I would choose to defend myself from that accusation, Mokuba," the king said fondly. Then his gaze turned hard. "But understand that as much as I might agree with your assessment, I have no authority to thwart the gods. There is only one person who does."

"And who is _that?" _Mokuba snapped.

"Whosoever holds the Golden Seven in his, or her, possession."

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Seto choked, coughed, and spat up a gout of thick blood. He laughed, madness sparking in his eyes. "Is _this _what you have to conquer me, Seti? God-King of Egypt? Is _this _the final authority to which I have no choice but to fall to my knees?"

Seti snarled with fury, and a whip of sharpened air shot out from the sweeping arc of his arm and sent Seto sprawling up against the wall of his own soul room, which cracked but did not fall. Seto laughed again, though it sounded almost like sobbing.

"If I must _beat _understanding into you, successor, do not think that I won't!" Seti snarled. "I have tried to be patient with you, the same as I tried to be patient with the Ishtar boy! I have tried to explain to you the importance of the mission that lies before you! _You _drive me to this! This punishment you have invited upon yourself! The very essence of existence lies on the precipice of oblivion and _you _refuse to do your part because of some _child!"_

"I refuse to do my part because I hate _you," _Seto replied evenly, rasping because of his ripped, tender throat. "This supposed threat against existence has nothing to do with Mokuba. _You _raised the first fist. I am 'dooming the world' because you have tried to enslave me. I will not be ruled. Not by you, not by a god. And if this earth will fall because of it, that is _not _my problem. You, like every magic-addled _idiot _ever to cross my path, seem to think that because you have some power that I do not, you are then permitted to lord over me. I _exist _to prove you wrong. Stop blaming me for your own arrogant insanity."

"_You _call _me _arrogant?!" Seti thundered, and a shock of lightning crashed into Seto's body, arching his back and eliciting something between a whimper and a grunt. "I am a _god!"_

"You are an illusion," Seto whispered. "You are a petulant child, whining because his playmates will not play by his rules."

"_You _are a blasphemer! _You _spit in the faces of powers you cannot comprehend!"

"Send all the volleys and slings you like," Seto snarled. "You will tire eventually, you will make a mistake, and if I have to crawl out of my own grave, if I have to slither my way out of _hell _to capitalize on that mistake, then be damned sure that I will."

Seti stared at his descendent, then held out a hand and sent a gleaming, silver-white serpent _screaming _from his open palm, which rocketed forward and wrapped itself around Seto's body, forcing his arms out and pinning him in place.

"…Why do you fight me?" Seti asked. "What are you, that you would spit upon the honor and dignity of one chosen by the gods to _help_ you?"

Seto sneered. "I am a father. You came into my home, and threatened the life and well-being of my family. You spat upon the honor and dignity of _my boy,_ and have threatened more than once to kill him."

Seti's eyes narrowed, and the serpent coiled around Seto's neck, and bared the gleaming, dripping scimitars of its fangs.

The eldest Kaiba's terrible expression turned yet more terrible; he grinned, showing his red-stained teeth.

"…Nothing in existence will save you from me."

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

There was an unspoken, corporeal animosity between the man in the red-and-black suit sitting behind the desk, and the man in the white robes standing before it.

"It's been years since I have been graced with your presence, Shadi," said Pegasus Crawford as he tucked a stray strand of silver behind one ear.

Shadi did not respond, not immediately. His desert-sky eyes gazed off distantly, holding his Ankh and his Scales without noting that they were there. He finally said, without looking at the man with whom he shared the room, "…The Kaiba boy is losing."

Pegasus laughed. "Losing. But not lost. He will rise up from the ashes."

Shadi finally glanced over. "You are so certain of this."

"I am," Pegasus said, leaning back. "No one thought he would survive Kaiba Gozaburo's training. He did. No one thought he would tear down Kaiba Gozaburo's empire. He did. No one thought his ridiculous game company would succeed. It did. No one thought he would live after I found him. He did. No one thought he would survive Battle City. He did. That man's entire essence can be wrapped up in the simplest tenet of honest arrogance: proving people wrong."

Shadi raised a thin, pencil-like eyebrow. "That man is, in no way, arrogant."

Again, Pegasus laughed. "No. I suppose not. He is almost crippled by his own sense of inadequacy. But he also refuses to be ruled. No one is permitted to drag him down to defeat, unless it is himself. He will be his own executioner. The ghost of Seti I will not win this tug-of-war."

Shadi turned his gaze away again.

"For the sake of this world's future, I hope the gods place as much faith in this man as you do."

"I do not need to have faith in my lungs to know that I can breathe," Pegasus said. "I have no faith in Seto Kaiba. I simply know the truth. He does what he was born to do, whether we believe in him or not. And he was born to climb, to climb and scratch and tear, until he topples Heaven."

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

Isis Ishtar sat with her younger brother in the apartment she shared with him. She sat on the couch while Malik paced.

She harbored no animosity toward Noa Kaiba, but Malik was feeling protective. He disliked that his own instinct to protect his family, and to make up for his past failings, was completely at odds with what he knew he had to do: trust in the Kaibas. He hated Noa Kaiba. Hated his anger, his strength, his hubris.

And he hated most of all that Noa Kaiba was right.

That Rishid remained with the young Kaiba heir made matters all the harder. Malik knew that his brother was wiser than he would ever be, stronger than he would ever be, _better _than he would ever be. He could not justify his actions while Rishid worked to atone for them.

He could not hide the truth from Rishid's resolute, tired eyes.

"How is your hand?" Isis asked.

Malik looked down at his right palm, still slightly red. "Healing," he said. "The pain isn't noticeable anymore. Why did this have to happen? Where could we have gone _wrong? _Sister, what did we do to upset the gods so? Did _I _do this? Are my actions to blame for this repetition of history?"

"I do not know, Malik," Isis murmured softly. "I do not think that is the case, though. You should not hold yourself to the standards of the Kaiba family. Neither Noa nor Seto will ever forgive you. They will never absolve you. They will never forgive _me, _either."

"Do you think they will forgive Rishid?"

Isis smiled. "Maybe. Our brother _is _special."

Malik smiled back. "He is."

They waited a moment, sharing in silent pride.

"My point," Isis said, "is that the only Kaiba whose forgiveness is even possible for us to earn is from the little one. Let go of the guilt, my brother. Stand tall, and live as proudly as you see fit. The judgment of the Kaibas is too stringent. There is no possible way to live while carrying it on your shoulders."

Malik nodded. After a moment, he said, "…I hate Noa Kaiba. I can't help it. I can't help but hate anyone who…who…"

"…Anyone who what, Malik?"

Malik's eyes were wide and haunted. "…Who reminds me what I am."

* * *

**Verse Six.**

* * *

"You've told me that I'm a dragon, and that I'm somehow connected to all this because the ghost of Seti I remembers me, but I'm still having a hard time understanding what it is you're expecting me to _do."_

Yami studied Kay's face as though he were trying to determine just what species of idiot she was. He stole a glance at Mokuba, and his piercing gaze softened. He said, "…I am sure that this is the same difficulty which has caused my cousin to grow so impatient with Kaiba. I will explain this as best I can, dear one. I do not _expect _you to do anything. The reason you are here is because, as you say, you are connected to this. The gods have marked you for a purpose. It is not my place to tell you what that purpose is. Only you can determine that. When the time comes that you will need to know, then you will know. That is the nature of gods. They are rarely talkative, and never straightforward. Those who expect either tend to be disappointed."

Kay frowned, mulling this over. As a lapsed Catholic, she thought that this made an inordinate, and frightening, amount of sense. She couldn't help but feel skeptical, talking about the Egyptian gods and goddesses as though they were real; but then, she reminded herself, what exactly was it that made the idols of mainstream, modern religions any more valid than Osiris, and Isis, and Horus and Ptah?

"Your eyes tell me that you _do _expect something of me," Kay said. "You expect me to take part in this. To listen to whatever message your gods will send to me." She held up her hand. "I know what you're going to say to me. You're going to say that it's my choice to accept the call of the gods or not. But that doesn't change your _real _expectations. You're going to be disappointed, even angry, if I choose to go on with my life as if the past week never happened. Which, spoiler alert, I'm very tempted to do right now."

Yami watched her for a while, gauging her, before he broke into a beaming grin.

Joey Wheeler was the first to speak up. "…Good work, new girl. You get how things work with this sumbitch. All right. Lady's gotta point, Yami. She's really got no reason to believe any of the shit we've been talking about the past few days. Best we can do is do what we know we can do. If she wants to throw her hat in with us, s'all good. But we don't strong-arm people."

Yami nodded. "Fine, fine. All fine. Mokuba. Did Noa tell you when he would be here?"

Mokuba shook his head. "No. He just said he was going to walk down here with Mister Bakura. He mentioned he was going to stop by a gas station and buy some, uh…snackages." The boy smiled. "Then he said he'd be here."

Kay found a smile, as well.

"With Bakura?" Yami asked.

"Yes," Mokuba said. "He says he doesn't want to let Mister Bakura out of his sight."

Yami nodded. "Good."

"Are you sure that's a good thing?" Tristan Taylor asked. "I mean…I love Bakura like a brother, but…who knows when the spirit's gonna spring himself on us again?"

"He's much more likely to do so when left alone," Yami said. "Noa is right. Besides, if we isolate Ryou Bakura _again, _what are our chances for success, exactly?"

Tristan crossed his arms. "…Hm. Fair, I guess. Noa _is _pretty frickin' strong. Enhanced muscles 'n all that."

"Enhanced what?" Kay asked.

"Noa got in an accident," Mokuba said, "and Niisama helped him. Reconstructed his limbs and stuff."

Kay nodded. She figured there was more to it than that, but wasn't inclined to press. She probably wouldn't get the answers she wanted, anyway. This group seemed addicted to giving half-answers, and the Kaibas had more reason than the others to be secretive, she was sure.

"And Noa is…the man in white? From the tournament?" Kay asked instead.

Mokuba nodded. "My cousin."

It was blatantly obvious that Noa Kaiba and Seto Kaiba looked nearly identical to each other, and so Kay decided not to comment on it. The way the others were looking at her—all except Rishid Ishtar, who stood near the door like a silent obelisk—made her think that they expected her to say something along those lines. Everyone did, their faces said. Go ahead and get it over with.

Kay obstinately kept her lips closed.

A sudden crash from outside stiffened everyone's backs. Kay jumped in her chair, and she whirled toward the door. Rishid Ishtar had taken his hands from his pockets, where he'd kept them sheathed like daggers, and looked ready to pounce on something.

Joey and Tristan were on their feet.

The two suited men that were the young Kaiba's guards drew their side-arms.

Yami remained seated.

"_Mister Kaiba?" _came a voice from outside the room. _"How did you…?"_

"Niisama?" Mokuba almost whimpered.

The two guards glanced at each other.

The motel room door, which was locked, crashed inward. Wrenched off its hinges, the hunk of painted wood split down the center and landed with a heavy double _clunk _on the carpet. Kay stood up, inching backward, as she got a good look at the ghoulish figure in the open doorway.

Seto Kaiba stood there, his hair soaked with blood and sweat, his face dirt-streaked and gaunt. His clothes were rumpled, smoldering, blackened, and his eyes glowed like bright blue lamps. The hem of his trench coat looked as though it had been scorched by a bonfire, ragged and bitten, threadbare and smoking.

The elder Kaiba's eyes locked on Yami.

* * *

**Verse Seven.**

* * *

Seto was smiling, with blood on his teeth. He took a step forward, hunched over like he couldn't find the strength to stand upright, and collapsed to one knee. He let out a low, gurgling sound that they felt more than heard, and had no choice but to take it as laughter.

"Niisama!"

The black-haired boy's cry of elation-turned-horror was like a beacon to a blind man, and Seto's head whipped to the side, to focus on his brother. Mokuba looked so incredibly small at that moment. Seto began to speak, the sound slithering its way out of his throat and slipping through his clenched teeth.

"Look, my son. What is it your homunculus said? Look on my work, and despair."

That laughter again.

And then, speech again, in a different voice, a lower voice. A somehow dead voice.

"Go, then. Do your work, and show me the worth of a _king._ Show me your greatness! Show me how I've driven you to craven debauchery!"

Seto stumbled forward again. The first voice: "Do you think you can make this into a victory, my son?"

The second: "I am no one's son!"

"Do you think that by driving me to this faster, you will somehow win? Do you think I will be as easily manipulated as the _children_ you have conquered so far? I told you, my son. I am a _god._ You have defied me for the last time."

Yami was on his feet. He did not speak. But those who looked at him saw something that they had never seen before on the man's face. He was a gambler, a manipulator. He took perverse joy in everything he did, and never was he found without a dark little smirk on his face.

There was no fear in him now, no apprehension. There was no surprise, no shock, no indignation. And there was no dark little smirk.

The spirit of Atemhotep—lost king of Egypt—was stark, raving, biblically furious.

Seto grunted with sudden pain, and doubled over with his fists cradled in his gut. He stayed there for several agonizing seconds, then lifted his head. In his second voice, he said, "If this is to—if this is…my last…chance…to speak as myself…then I—I will say…what must be said…to drive my anger…into your skull…"

The first voice: "Speak, then! Before you die!"

Seto grinned his hellish grin. Then he somehow, miraculously, manufactured his face into something lovely. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and his lips curved into a gentle, summer-breeze sort of smile. He looked up at the boy.

"This is goodbye for now. Noa will take care of you. I love you, Mokie. I love you…I love you."

Then he screamed.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**The main difference between Seto, Yugi, and Ryou in the prospect of dealing with their ancient spirits is this: Ryou is submissive, Yugi is cooperative, and Seto is an asshole. For all I know, Seti is being honest in his interpretation of things, and he really wants to help. But he, like Seto, doesn't take well to being questioned.**_

_**Did Seto bring Seti's wrath onto himself? Probably. Is Seti's wrath justified? Probably not.**_

_**Seti didn't turn out to be all that different from the other spirits, after all, except that his anger seems to have been intensified. Maybe all that time with Malik tainted his sanity. I don't know. I certainly wouldn't question that.**_

_**But, Seto's reaction to Seti is turning out to be quite…uh…well?**_

_**Ahem. No comment.**_


	23. The One True Unifier

_**They say that trouble comes in threes. Apparently awesome things also come in threes, when the stars are aligned properly.**_

_**Point the first: this is the finale for Book Two of "Cult of the Dragon King." This book's entire focus was integrating magic fully and fundamentally into the plot, as well as setting the main conflicts in motion.**_

_**Point the second: this chapter crosses the line, making this story the fourth on my profile to reach 100,000 words. That's always struck me as not only a substantial number, but kind of a magical one as well. It's the point at which a work becomes what I like to call a Behemoth. I'm rather proud to induct this work into the club.**_

_**Point the third: I have been posting on this website for 11 years. I've grown as a person and as a writer, and it's all thanks to this community, and the glorious worlds that wonderfully talented authors and artists have created, which this medium allows us to explore on our own terms. With this chapter, I cross another line.**_

_**Across 41 projects in those 11 years, as of today, the twenty-seventh day of May, 2013, I have published 1,000,000 words on this website.**_

_**This is . . . mind-boggling. I have no idea how to reconcile that.**_

_**But here's something I do know: it's only fitting for this momentous milestone to occur with this project. This story is my oldest; it's been in my mind the longest. It's probably the most fulfilling for me, as a person.**_

_**Thank you for sharing this with me. Thank you so much.**_

_**Now, then . . . let's get started.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

He had the Millennium Rod clutched in one fist, as though it had fused with his skin and was trapped there.

Seto Kaiba, ghastly and defiant, laughed through the pain. The spirit of Seti was burning through his flesh, twisting his guts into knots, taking full possession of the body he had claimed as his in the most agonizing—and permanent—manner possible.

Yet still, Seto remained resolute. He rose to his feet, holding his arms out for his crucifixion, and laughed at the ceiling. He stumbled back a step, and screeched: "Shine upon us, you gods! Show us your greatness! _Show these children why you are worthy of worship!"_

Little Mokuba was as pale as a sheet, trembling, whimpering, hands hovering near his ears like he thought he could drown out these terrible sounds. He kept repeating his brother's pet-name, "Niisama…Niisama…Niisama…" as terrified tears ran down his cheeks.

Even when pressed to his own oblivion, Seto Kaiba was a born showman. He gestured grandly, and even though his face was a terror, it was one which could not be denied, could not be undone. It was a face that would haunt them for years.

His voice was a bonfire, blazing from his lips:

"_YOUR SERVANT CALLS ME PATHETIC! BUT WHO IS IT THAT SENDS PITIFULLY INEPT SOLDIERS TO DELIVER THEIR MESSAGES?! WHO ENTRUSTS THEIR WILL TO SUCH A LAUGHABLE FAILURE AS THIS?! WATCH YOUR CHILD, YOU GODS, AS HE SLAMS THE DOOR AGAINST YOU!"_

Seto tossed his head back and shrieked with laughter, and a lick of fire sparked at the hem of his coat. His image seemed to waver like a mirage in the desert as he howled.

Mokuba scrambled backward, sobbing for his brother.

Seti's head snapped back down, suddenly wearing a cold, composed face, and regarded the boy almost fondly. "…You want your father…boy? You want his arms to shelter you? To comfort you? You wish for his body to shield you? Bow your head, blasphemer. Lower your eyes! _Bow_ to me! _Beg_ me! We shall see if I am feeling merciful." Mokuba did not move. He was too frightened to move. He stared up at the man who puppet-stringed his hero and cried.

"_On your knees!"_ Seti screamed.

The air itself hardened, and slammed into the child's back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Seto's head fell forward. "You see…gods? Spirits? You see how your harbinger wastes his efforts? How he countermands you? Watch, you gods, while he unravels your tapestry with his petty theatrics."

"_Silence, dog!"_ The words tore their way out of Seti's throat. "I will have you watch this! Watch in silence! Watch as your false idol learns his place!"

Seti's hand lifted the Millennium Rod, and the air forced Mokuba's head down to the floor.

The spirit-possessed man in the flaming trench coat swung his weapon down. Its freed blade, molten silver in the wavering air, shot downward; lightning painted by a madman was flung down toward the child's neck.

A crash of shattered glass, skittering footfalls like shell casings in a warzone.

The Millennium Rod's glinting blade sank deep, and drank blood from Noa Kaiba's arm, held up in front of his statue's face and his executioner's eyes; and beneath them, a death-like smile curved his lips.

Noa whirled, sending one outstretched leg slamming into his adoptive sibling's midriff and sending man, spirit, and golden destroyer flying across the room.

The middle Kaiba brother stood straight, and slowly began removing his shirt. He stared, distastefully, at the rip in his formerly-white sleeve. He tossed the offending article away. The man's chest was bare, and did not seem to move even when he breathed. _If_ he breathed.

His aqua-green hair was like swamp-fire, cradled in the light let in through the shattered window which had been his portal into the room. He took one, deliberate, step forward. His body shielded Mokuba from seeing the crumpled heap of a heretic his brother had become.

Noa said:

"You, who would force a Kaiba to kneel: pray. Pray with all the earnestness you have. Let us see if your gods will protect you from me."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

Before Yami could even find words, Noa said, "Unless you are opening your mouth to force this wretch from my sight, stifle yourself. Your gods have no place here, and your magic has failed us for the last time. If you would think to place yourself into this arena as anything more than subservient then you, like your cousin, will die today."

Yami blinked, then nodded firmly. "Of course, Master Kaiba. In this, I am yours. Please, permit me to end this blasphemous display."

Noa glared white-hot daggers into Yami's heart, and nodded. "Do it, then. _Now."_ He turned to the men who had been flanking Mokuba before. "Get out. Were it not for me, you would be watching Mokuba Kaiba bleed out on the floor right now."

The men knew better than to speak. They bowed their heads, and left the room.

Rishid Ishtar had sneaked up behind Seto Kaiba's body and was wresting it still, while it struggled under Seti's influence to escape his grasp. The big man was strong, but he was losing ground quickly. He looked at Noa desperately.

Noa gestured. "Let him go. It is not your job to defend my family. I do not hold you to it."

Rishid let Seto go, nodded, and disappeared. Joey, Téa, and Tristan followed in a mad scramble for safety.

Kay Mayer did not move.

Seto shot forward, screaming, but Noa was too fast. The green-haired man leaped into the air, twisted, and crashed onto his adoptive sibling's back, pinning him to the floor. Reaching out, he gripped Seto's arms and held them up, behind his back. "This woman who stands here in this room. She is important to you." Seti stopped his thrashing. "You do not know her, but she is important to you. Continue to threaten the lives of those important to me, and she will be the first to die."

"…You wouldn't _dare!"_

Noa leaned close. "I'll rip her hair out and stuff it down her throat," he whispered. "I'll tear open her skull and drink her blood from it. I'll take her limbs and twist them into a fucking pretzel." His voice was cold, with no inflection. "I'll take that goddamned hunk of gold in your hand and fuck her with it."

Miraculously, Kay's face remained stoic, composed; she even managed to look amused.

"Be silent! You sniveling _insect!_ I'll submit you to horrors you can't conceive of! _You dare not touch her!"_

Noa tilted his head to the side and smiled. "…You're adorable."

Seti's voice continued to screech, until Yami finally stepped forward. With absolute nonchalance, he knelt down, and put a hand on the man's forehead.

The world imploded.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Yugi Mutou was suddenly alone in his own body. The spirit of the king was gone, vanished, and the Millennium Puzzle was just a hunk of metal hanging from his neck.

He turned around, surveying the room. Noa still stood, a statue in the waning light, his eyes blank and unmoving from his elder's crumpled body. Mokuba was sobbing in his chair, hunkered over with his face in his little hands.

Yugi watched Kay Mayer—Kisara—step over with a slow, trance-like gait and put a hand on the child's quivering shoulder. Mokuba flinched violently, and looked up like he expected something horrible to meet him.

Kay's face was gentle, but unnatural. When she spoke, it seemed to be with two—no, three—voices, intermingled in quiet harmony: "Don't be afraid. Everything will be fine." Mokuba stared up at the young woman, confused, frightened, licking at his lips. "I know it's scary," Kay said, "but your brother will win. Your brother always wins…doesn't he?" Kay smiled. It was not her own smile but someone, or something, else's; Yugi felt confident in saying that.

The white-haired woman knelt down, and held out her arms. "Come here, little one," she whispered, and Mokuba collapsed against her. Kay Mayer hugged the boy as tenderly as any mother, stroking back his hair. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "Everything will be okay. Shhh…"

Noa turned his head slightly, acknowledging the affair behind him, and allowed an inkling of a smile onto his face.

His eyes, though, never left Seto.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Atemhotep did not wear Yugi Mutou's face, or his clothes, or his body. He was sheathed in liquid light, without eyes, without ears, without a mouth. His arms, tongues of white fire, spread out before him, and Seti was thrown backward, off of his feet, with all the effort of an involuntary muscle spasm.

The light extinguished, and the man returned. Yami rubbed his arms, grimacing, and rolled his neck before settling his eyes onto his cousin. He said, "So many things you have said to him, to your successor, I have said to you. Talk of patience, and duty. Talk of powers that cannot be denied. Talk of gods."

He strode forward, his shoes clacking against the marble floor of Seto Kaiba's soul room. They beat like a metronome; slow, then faster, then faster and faster, until Yami finally reached the figure of his cousin and grabbed him up by the collar of the robe he wore, flinging him up against the wall.

"Before me, you are merely a priest," Yami hissed. "The time has passed by for your grievances. You are no longer permitted to take matters to hand. Your chance is passed. _He_ is the one whose path is unfurling. Yours fell off into forgotten history centuries upon centuries ago."

Seti tried to speak, but his voice would not come. His lips moved, his throat worked, but he could not summon words.

"You are not Seto Kaiba, and he is not you. He does not own you, nor you him. The gods have called for Kaiba, not you. You are the servant here. You are expendable."

Seti's glare could have frozen a summer day.

Yami did not flinch. He did, however, glance off to one side, quirk an eyebrow, and smile. The ground shook beneath his feet. Lightning pealed in the distance. He said, "It begins. Now, you will see the nature of these events."

Seti was tossed aside, and Yami turned to Seto, still shackled to the wall of his soul room by Seti's glowing serpent, which had its fangs sunk deep into the young executive's throat. Seto's eyes were wide, betraying an agony beyond mortal description, but he was aware. His lips parted, and he gurgled. Even this wordless cry of pain carried with it a flare of indignant anger.

Yami snapped his fingers.

The serpent vanished, and Seto collapsed to his knees. Breathing harshly, coughing up blood, he immediately set to putting his feet beneath him. Here was a man who refused to stay kneeling for long. He swayed, stumbled, and fell against the wall behind him.

Yami sighed heavily. "Time has not been kind to my cousin. He is unable to remain in check, when faced with a man who refuses to take him at his word; a man like you, who sees no worth in his work. Who must be convinced of all things, whose standards have no time nor place for his devotion to holy missions. It seems, Kaiba, that I have failed again. I did not see my cousin for the angry, embittered poltergeist that he is capable of being, and because of it, your bloodline has been put in jeopardy."

Seto glared hotly at the king for a moment before turning his attention to Seti, who was just managing to reclaim _his_ footing.

"If it is any consolation to you," Yami said, "know that your work has begun. Your family is as unified as any I have ever witnessed. That is the nature of my gifts. Unity. Strength in cooperation. Once I thought you were my polar opposite in this. But then…to think, once I trusted the advice of the fool you see behind me, thinking to murder me with a device _I_ granted to him."

Seti, who held the Millennium Rod up with its blade exposed, was blown backward by a blast of air.

Seto actually found the remnants of his old smirk. "…It would seem I owe you, Mutou. Yet again."

Yami chuckled. "You must be exhausted, Kaiba, to say such things."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "I must be," he said, then he collapsed.

* * *

**Verse Five.**

* * *

When Yami came back, Yugi was strangely relieved. It had been odd, having the gambler back, but as time went on he'd grown used to it. To have him disappear was frightening, and to have him come back with so much anger bleeding in him that it tautened Yugi's own muscles, was more frightening still.

He whispered, "…What happens now…?"

Seto Kaiba stumbled to his feet, but his eyes were icy. A smile rose on his face. "Well," he said. He adjusted his coat. "That will be quite enough of that." His voice was quiet, calm, and condescending. He looked at the others who shared a room with him: Yugi, the young man whose courage was tenuous but clear; Noa, the arrogant protector; Kisara, the white-haired woman with a dragon inside her; and Mokuba, the young prince, strong and capable until his beloved guardian left him.

Yugi looked up at Seti's face and smiled serenely. "Congratulations," he said, and Seti blinked at him. "You've won. Seti. I'm impressed. I didn't think anybody could beat Kaiba. But I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He waited, tilting his head thoughtfully. "But…I'm not sure if the others who are watching you right now are all that happy."

Seti smirked. "I know well that the homunculus hates me. He has made that quite clear. And Kisara, my dear Kisara, she will see the truth one day. As for the boy? I have no time for the boy."

"Obviously." Yugi gestured dismissively. "He's just a child. He's like me. What could he possibly do to you? I mean, _I_ can't do anything against you. _I_ don't have any way to fight you." He looked innocently up at the former king, lifting up his Puzzle. "Right?"

Seti scowled. "…You threaten me?"

"No," Yugi said. "I agree with you. Mokuba Kaiba is obviously beneath your concern. Worthless. Sniveling. He'll obviously never be anything important. _True_ greatness is born that way. I mean, you came out of your mother fully grown and magnificent. Surely."

Seti's face twisted. "No. You do not threaten me. You mock me."

"When you were ten, you were already glorious. Right? Sure. You were already a king. Guiding men, protecting your land. Obviously you weren't still learning, because you knew everything already. Because you, unlike Mokuba, are important. You, unlike Mokuba, are relevant. Loved. Respected." Yugi turned to look at Mokuba, who had removed himself from Kisara's embrace and was standing next to Noa. His face was streaked with tears, but his eyes were dry now. "How dare you look him in the eye?" Yugi asked the boy mildly. "You're just a mundane child. You don't have money, or power, or influence, or knowledge or wisdom. You're a waste of space."

Mokuba found a smile. "…Oh," he said. "I should just kill myself now, and maybe my blood will please the glory of Seti I. He hasn't ruled anything for four thousand years, but obviously he's more important than me. He's so powerful."

"Be silent. Child."

Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. "You stole my brother from me. Why would I ever listen to you?"

"_Be silent!"_

"…No."

Seti flipped the Millennium Rod into his fist again. Before he could take a step forward, but not before Noa coiled his muscles and prepared to spring, lightning announced itself in the tiny room. Honest lightning. Searing their eyes, exploding with thunder in their ears.

The white-hot bolt slammed into Mokuba, and lit in his eyes.

When he spoke next, the sheer power of his voice—voices—drove the spirit of Seti I, wearing his descendant's skin, to his knees. Yugi and Kisara, too, fell. Only Noa remained standing.

The child said: _**This game is over.**_

* * *

**Verse Six.**

* * *

_**What part of the mission you were given involved delivering pain to these children?**_

The voices mingled, whirled, echoed, danced. Mokuba's eyes were glittering orbs of solid gold light, his face was taut and angry. His hands were curled into little fists at his sides. He stared directly into Seti, with an angry sneer on his young face that shouldn't have looked natural but did.

Kisara stood up, struggling to keep her feet, and stood behind the boy's right shoulder. Noa fell into place behind his left.

Seti stared. "…What…?"

_**Answer the question. What part of your mission involved harming these children?**_

"You…you cannot b—"

_**ANSWER THE QUESTION!**_

The boy's face did not change, did not shift in expression the faintest bit, but the voices grew so loud that they made Seti flinch backward as though pushed. A trickle of blood ran down from the eldest Kaiba's ears. His lips opened, but he found no words. Dawning comprehension lifted Seti's eyes, as he realized what this meant. Something triggered in him.

Mokuba crossed his arms.

…_**The one chosen to complete this work is the man called Seto Kaiba. You are not this man. You were brought up from your sleep to act as his guide. You were brought to him to help him. You have not done this. You have presumed to know our wishes, assumed that your ways are the expected ways, and that our agent must be tested first, and must do things as you decide. Do you think us stupid, priest? Do you think that we would deliver the Destroyer of Minds to his hands if we thought he needed to be trained? We have trained him for years! We have tempered him! We have watched him act as we wish him to act! You, priest, overstep the boundaries we so very clearly laid out for you.**_

Seti cried out, covered his ears, and his head fell to the floor.

"I…I-I…!"

_**Too often, and for too long, the spirits of those who are not part of this world have interfered with this. This is the last time any of them will do so, until the Golden Seven sleep again.**_

Mokuba held out his arm, pointing at Seti.

_**So I have decreed. So speaks Heru-pa-khered. This order will not be defied. Too many voices have informed you of your misdeeds, yet you refuse to hear. Do you hear **_**mine**_**…priest?**_

Seti's lips quivered. He did not raise his head from the floor. "…Yes. I hear your voice."

_**Will you heed this warning?**_

"I will."

The boy's head turned slightly, so that his eyes were locked on Yugi.

_**And you? Gambler?**_

Yami visited Yugi's eyes just long enough to bow his head. "I will heed your warning, my lord." He sounded quiet, humble, not at all like himself.

Mokuba nodded.

The boy collapsed in a dead faint.

* * *

**Verse Seven.**

* * *

As Seto removed his scorched, soot-covered, blood-drenched coat, he glared at the unconscious form of Mokuba, lying on the couch. The boy looked like he was sleeping peacefully, but that did nothing to cool the fire in his guardian's eyes.

Yugi sat nearby, head lowered, hands dangling between his knees. He said, "…Yami wants you to know that he's sorry his help wasn't enough to stop the gods from interfering." He gestured to Mokuba. "He…he knew you wouldn't appreciate it."

Seto's glare intensified as his eyes narrowed; his gaze was a blue, tempered blade. He hissed in reply: "…I don't want to hear it."

Yugi nodded. "I know."

Noa stood off to the side, near the door. He kept glancing out every couple of minutes. Once, he poked his head out and they heard him saying, "S'a'right, champ. We're keeping things in order. Keep an eye out for us, hm? Don't want any surprises. Let me know if you feel…something stirring."

Seto lifted his head as Noa stepped back inside and shut the door. "…Ryou Bakura?" he asked.

Noa blinked. "…Yeah. How'd you know? Did Mokuba tell you?"

Seto barked a laugh. "Mokuba didn't have a chance to tell me anything." He turned to regard his adoptive sibling. "I can feel the damned ring. I can feel _all_ of them." His face, gaunt and dirty and disgusted, twisted anew. "I have no choice. To keep these fucking gods out of this, I have to find them. I have to win them."

Noa nodded decisively. "I agree." Now it was Seto's turn to look surprised. "I went out, while back, found Bakura. The ring spirit, Bakari's what he calls it, had its hooks in him. Killed a man." He glanced fleetingly at Yugi. "Damn near killed Duke Devlin, too." Yugi blanched; Noa turned back to his brother. "That thing is rough. A monster if I've ever seen one. It'll come after you, now you've got the rod, whether you take on this mission or not. Your best bet, and _his_ best bet," Noa didn't have to say who, "is to hit this head-on. Take the power for your own."

"But," Yugi interjected, "Horus! The god! The one that…that…took hold of Mokuba." He flinched at the spasms of fury that met both elder Kaibas' faces. "He said that the spirits and gods aren't going to be a part of this! Not anymore! Doesn't that…doesn't that mean…Bakura is safe?"

Noa sneered. "You told him that once already. Look how well that turned out. It's high time you people stopped lying to that kid."

No one bothered to mention that Noa was barely a year older than "that kid."

It was Kay's turn to speak up, reminding them all that she was still there: "Yugi."

Yugi turned. "Yes?"

"…Tell…Yami…" she began, looking chagrined. "…Tell him I believe him."

Yugi smiled. "He heard you. He says he's glad." Yugi bowed his head with an uncharacteristic flourish.

Noa turned to her. He calculated something, then said, "Miss Mayer. You helped keep Mokuba calm. Protected him. Comforted him. Thank you. I, uh…I'm sorry about what I said. About, uh…" he cleared his throat.

"Violating me with an ancient artifact?" Kay asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"…Yeah. Guess that was uncouth. Anyway. I know if he was awake right now, he'd thank you. So I'm thanking you for him."

"You're not used to this, are you?" Kay asked. "Being pleasant. Being _honest."_

Noa shrugged. "Guess not."

Seto heaved a sigh. He grimaced as he looked down at his shirt. The sleeves were singed. He rolled them up on his arms. Beneath his bare skin was coiled steel. "You put yourself in the line of fire," he said to Kay. "All of you did. You protected Mokuba when I couldn't. I am…indebted to you." He was better at expressing his gratitude, and his guilt, than Noa; but it was a near thing.

Yugi smiled self-consciously. "We take care of our own," he said.

Seto smirked, but it looked painful; more painful than usual. He reached down, took up Mokuba in his arms, and turned to the door. He glanced at Noa. "You've decided to defend Ryou Bakura."

Noa shrugged. "I'm not as easy to kill as the rest of you sheep."

Seto's smirk regained some of its confidence. "Apparently. Tell him, if he likes, he can stay with us. While you've proven adept at crossing great distances, I don't want you rushing halfway across the city whenever Mokuba is in danger."

Noa nodded. "Fine."

Kay piped up: "You're friends with Detective McKinley, aren't you?"

Seto glanced at her, nodded. "I am."

"Do you think Katie is in danger, too?" She seemed to be masking a concern for her own safety by playing to something that might snag Seto's sympathy. "Should I…tell her? And Renie?"

"Tell them only if you can convince them to believe you," Seto said. "It serves no purpose to warn people of dangers they refuse to see." He paused. "I am…rather disgusting proof of that." He considered for a while. "If you can convince them of this…problem, then feel free to extend my invitation to them. You, also, are welcome to whatever protection my family can offer." He glanced at Noa. "Unless, of course, you think this would stretch you too thin."

It wasn't a question, or a concern. It was a dare.

Noa grinned. "Bitch, please. I was _made_ for this."

* * *

**Verse Eight.**

* * *

In the hall, Mokuba's two guards had joined the rest of the security team. Aside from wearing identical suits to the others, all of them wore identical expressions of resigned, grim determination. They watched as Seto carried his brother past them; Noa came up behind.

Seto stopped and swept his glare over the suits and stares. He said, "…I never told you specifically that your protection of my brother meant keeping _me_ from him. Because of that, none of you will be terminated from your positions on my staff. However, the fact still remains that danger was permitted to catch a glimpse of him. Until this matter is resolved, I cannot use you. Go home." He stopped, thought a moment, then added, "You are on paid leave. Effective immediately."

They all bowed their heads.

One man spoke up: "How is the little mister? Is he…is he heard?"

Seto blinked. "What?" he snapped.

"Is he hurt?"

Seto blinked, shook his head. "Thankfully, no. He's just tired."

Silenced reigned until the three Kaibas were outside. As Seto headed for his car, Noa said: "My father would have fired them."

"That's why _I_ didn't," Seto said.

Noa smirked. "We're short-staffed. That's a lot of manpower you just sent on vacation, Aniki."

Seto looked irritated, dismissive. He grunted in reply. Then he said, "…Your father would have killed them."

Noa searched his elder's face, a frown playing at his lips. As they walked, he seemed to consider this very, very seriously. By the time Seto had Mokuba buckled into the backseat of his vehicle, Noa said, slowly, almost painfully: "You're right. He would have. Not…not with his own hands. But they would have died."

Seto, in turn, searched Noa's face. The frown on his lips wasn't playing. He said, "Your instincts tell you to do the same. Don't they, Noa?" It was an accusation. Noa shrugged, looking conflicted. "It isn't enough to keep Mokuba's _body_ safe. If we start rampantly murdering anyone who slights him, what would that accomplish?"

Noa grimaced. He said, "…He'd end up like us."

Seto's eyes flared. "You're better than your father." It was the first time he'd given Noa anything remotely resembling a compliment. "Act like it."

Noa glanced back at the motel; Ryou Bakura stood near the door to Mokuba's room, watching them. He turned back to Seto, and saluted. He headed back to his new charge with a kind of unconscious swagger that was almost a strut. He gave a jaunty little wave to Ryou, calling out, "What's poppin'? You up for a sleepover?" and Seto could see the nervous young man's smile.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I still can't tell if you're a credit to my name or an insult," he muttered.

Noa stopped, as if he'd heard.

_Is he heard?_ Seto thought, and shuddered.

* * *

**Verse Nine.**

* * *

When Mokuba opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his brother, sitting at his side, dressed in new clothes. Clean, fresh clothes. Slate-grey slacks and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. He did not wear a tie; the top button was undone, revealing the thin cord of his locket.

His eyes were dark, in more ways than one.

Mokuba squealed and threw himself at the man, clinging to him with a primal kind of ferocity that obviously surprised Seto, who hadn't yet realized his brother was awake—a clear sign that he was out of sorts. Mokuba wrapped his arms around Seto's neck, eyes shut against the tears welling up inside him, trying to choke back the maelstrom of emotions threatening to drown him.

Seto held the boy to him. Mokuba could feel him smile. "Hey, kiddo," he whispered.

"N-Niisama…!" the boy wailed.

A spasm went through Seto's body, and he said, seemingly against his will: "If he took over my body right now…" He somehow managed to keep himself from saying the rest, but it sounded like it hurt.

Mokuba shook his head against Seto's shoulder. "He told me," he said, voice muffled. "He said you—he said you were back…he said he gave you back to me…"

Seto rubbed his brother's back. "…Heru," he whispered to himself. "Horus. Lord of the Living." With a disgusted sigh, he lowered his head. "Damn it, Mokuba. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He leaned back and kissed the top of the boy's head. "I'm proud of you, little brother. You've been stronger through this than I have."

Mokuba shook his head again. "You fought him. You kept fighting him. _I_ couldn't fight. That—_god_—just took me. I didn't even know he was there."

Seto looked his young sibling in the eye. "You trust this god's word? Do you believe him?"

Mokuba thought, then nodded. "Yes. He was angry. He said it wasn't the way things were supposed to happen. Spirits shouldn't be going around messing things up when people are searching for the…the Golden Seven, he called them. He said, he told me, Seti was overstepping his boundaries."

Seto nodded. "Fine. Then listen to me, Mokuba. I'm going to search for these Millennium Items. I'm going to claim them. It's the only way I can finally put this circus behind me. I can't trust spirits, or gods, or guardians anymore. It's high time I took this into my own hands."

Mokuba smiled. "You'll win, Niisama. I know you'll win."

Seto ruffled Mokuba's hair. "Of course I will." He lay Mokuba back down on his bed. "Get some sleep, Mokuba. I'll see you in the morning." He stood up, walked over to the door, and flicked off the boy's light.

"Niisama?" Mokuba called out.

Seto stopped in the doorway, turning his head. "Yes?"

Even in the dark, he could see the impish little grin.

"…Do I win the bet?"

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Heru-pa-khered is the Egyptian name for "Horus the Child," who was transformed by the Greeks into Harpocrates, the God of Silence. In case you wondered, yes. It is very important, and significant, that Horus chose to take Mokuba's body in order to deliver his message to Seti. This story has a lot of layers to it. So many that I worry I might lose track of them.**_

_**In any case, though, as I mentioned above, this is the end of Book Two. Starting next chapter, we will venture into Book Three, "Herald from the West," which will detail Seto's quest to find, and take, the Millennium Items for himself.**_

_**If the preceding 100,000 words are any indication, the journey will be anything but easy.**_

_**But then, he's a Kaiba. He should be able to handle himself.**_

_**Right?**_

_**Also, if you're wondering what bet I'm talking about, check way back in Book One. Specifically the sixth chapter, "UnWelcome Home," Verse One.**_

_**What can I say? Kids bounce back quickly.**_

_**Before I go, I'd like to mention that I've recently brought back my FictionPress account from its long, long grave. The link is on my profile, and the first scene of my first original fiction piece, "Max Doesn't Believe in Jesus," can be found there.**_

_**If you could do me a tremendous favor and give that little story a shot, I would love you forever. Not in a creepy way, though. Unless, you know, you're into that kind of thing. In which case . . . **_

_**I'll just show myself out, shall I?**_


	24. Principia Discordia

_**This chapter has been a long time coming. As the previous chapter was the end of a book, it felt appropriate to let this project breathe for a while before coming back to it. I've been focusing on other things lately. I've done less writing than I would have liked, since graduating from university. Nonetheless, I've been keeping myself busy.**_

_**This chapter marks the beginning of Book Three: Herald from the West. Those of you who've read "Shifting Images" may remember that part of the plot involved Seto claiming the other Millennium Items. I believe it was in the fifth chapter that he claimed the Ring. Now, it should be noted that I'm not following the same trajectory this time around. Yes, Seto will still be gathering the Items, but the Ring won't be first.**_

_**The point of bringing this up is that, as I mentioned previously, this book's focus is Seto's quest for the Millennium Items. This chapter is a bit of setup, mostly, for later. But we'll get started pretty quickly. A lot happens in this book.**_

_**It should also be noted that the title of this chapter translates to "Principles of Discord," and is a reference to an obscure religious text. I chose this title mostly to refer to the chaotic nature of the story as we begin.**_

_**So let's begin.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"Look, all I'm saying is, you're ruining an entire franchise with this 'brotherly love' crap."

Mokuba Kaiba frowned studiously, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "You _really _have to stop starting conversations in the middle."

"I'm a visionary!" Noa Kaiba snarled. "Look, I've made a chart." He lifted a sheet of paper out from within his jacket. "Orphan? Check. Wealthy? Check. Raised by a relative? Check. Messy black hair? Check. Entirely too famous to make logical sense? Check." He glared over at the eldest Kaiba sibling, who was seated in one corner of the parlor and very pointedly not paying attention. "Looked after and protected by a smug son of a bitch who gets away with being arrogant because he backs it up with badassery? Just face it, kiddo." He leered down at Mokuba. "You _are _Harry Potter."

Mokuba's frown deepened. "I don't have a scar. Did you just compare Niisama to Sirius Black?"

Noa blinked, then sputtered with laughter. "Please. I'm not that pedestrian. Didn't I just tell you I'm a visionary? If anybody's Padfoot in this scenario, it's _me."_

"Niisama—"

"I'm Snape."

Mokuba blinked, stared, and _very slowly _turned his eyes back to Noa, looking like he'd just discovered the eternal secret to the universe. Noa, looking smug, gesticulated with his hands like a magician after a thoroughly entrancing performance. From the look on his face, you never would have been able to tell that life at the Kaiba Estate had turned completely upside down in the past weeks.

Not that there wasn't enough room for so many houseguests; there was enough room for each houseguest to have their own bathroom. Nonetheless, in a household used to having only two members—even Noa still hadn't quite settled into the routine; in fact, he seemed to thrive on disrupting the routine—tripling that number still had a demoralizing effect.

On Seto, at least.

Both Mokuba and Noa thought that the reason he hadn't yet lost his perpetual cool and kicked any of them out—Katie and Renie, in particular, seemed to be grating on his nerves; Ryou and Kisara seemed well-versed in the proper strategy of staying out of his way—was because he was full into Research Mode™ and couldn't be bothered.

While Seto was researching, Mokuba was used to seeing him enswathed in books and notepads, colored tabs and multi-colored pens. It was actually rather nice to see, since it meant that his brother was engaged in something that he obviously cared about, and it was usually the closest thing to having fun that he ever allowed himself to do anymore.

When it came to the Millennium Items, however, there was almost no printed information anywhere; most people seemed to think that they were a fringe theory at best, blatantly false mythology at worst, and that meant his only chance to find anything at all was obscure message boards and random speculative Egyptology blogs.

So, Seto was never found without his laptop or smart phone. Which meant nothing at all looked out of the ordinary.

Except for the fact that every new piece of the puzzle seemed to make him more and more irritated. Mokuba wondered what would happen if his brother had a legitimate breakthrough. It would probably involve broken bones and rampant cursing.

"Not to beat a dead horse…again," Noa said, watching his elder type mercilessly on a keyboard that obviously hadn't been built for a Kaiba's anger, "but you ever consider talking to an expert on this particular subject? Couple of 'em might even live here in the city."

"I'm not going to Mutou," Seto growled. "I'd prefer talking to Ishtar. And I'm not going to _her, _either."

Noa's face soured, and he quieted. Mokuba wasn't sure what had happened between the middle Kaiba and the Ishtar siblings, but it was obviously something less than pleasant because, whenever their names came up in conversation, he got a look on his face that made it seem like he was steeling himself for a particularly dangerous and unpleasant surgery.

Whether Noa was the patient or the surgeon in this particular metaphor, Mokuba wasn't sure.

"Well, then, how goes the independent study, Aniki? Found anything useful yet?"

Seto finally glanced up at his almost-twin, and gave him a sardonic expression that very clearly said: _What do you think?_

Noa hopped up onto his feet. "I'm gonna go do some studying of my own, then. Keep beating your head against the wall there, Seto-sama." He bowed deeply at the waist. "Sure is nice to see you spending your first vacation from the Kaiba Corporation doing exactly what you always do, except far less effectively."

Seto stared at Noa like he was a new species of goat. "Your commentary is both well-received and warranted. Well done."

Noa beamed. "It's what I'm here for!"

And with that, he left the room.

Mokuba looked at his brother with a small smile on his face. "I'm here to make you feel better about your fruitless enterprises." He reached over and patted Seto's knee. "There, there."

"Your sense of humor is less than appreciated," Seto muttered, and turned back to his research. The young Kaiba stood up, stepped behind his brother's chair, and put his hands on Seto's shoulders. "No use sucking up now. You've ruined your chances."

Mokuba rested his chin on Seto's left shoulder, and looked down at his screen. He was scanning the comments section of a YouTube video. "I love you?" the boy offered.

"I love you, too," Seto said, sounding grudging as he did; he couldn't leave the sentiment unanswered, even when it was meant as a joke. "Now go do your homework. Just because _I'm _wallowing in 'fruitless enterprises' doesn't mean you get to join me."

_ "Fine. _But do you know what's going on with Noa? Whenever I get ready for my mythology class, he gets all angry and starts sulking."

"Malik Ishtar is responsible for _this," _Seto said, reaching down into his chair and pulling up the Millennium Rod. "Isis Ishtar prompted me to start Battle City, which first attracted him to Domino in the first place. Considering all that's happened in the past two weeks, my guess is that Noa's confronted them. Likely he's threatened them. He doesn't want you around them, because he's drawn the lines of war. He thinks they may use you in order to even the score."

Mokuba blinked, standing up straight. "…Really?"

"I'd put money on it." Seto looked up from his screen. "There is one person in this city that Noa trusts implicitly. That is you. He is suspicious of everyone else. Their motives, their aspirations, their smiles. He suspects that the Ishtars will hurt you because he suspects that _everyone _will hurt you, given the opportunity."

"How do you know this?"

Seto turned back to look over his shoulder.

"It's the one thing about him to which I can relate."

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

"I can't believe you're letting me use all this."

"It's principle," Noa said as he slipped into the room. He put on a pleasant face and turned it toward Ryou Bakura. The unwilling host for the Millennium Ring was sitting on the bed of the most lavishly decorated bedroom in the entire estate. Not even the master bedroom could match the sheer _richness _here.

"Whose room _is _this?" Ryou asked.

Before Ryou had come here, this room had housed spare brooms, buckets, and stools for the cleaning staff.

Noa said, "My uncle Reshi used to visit from time to time. Unlike my father, he didn't believe in asceticism. His tastes were…rich. We've kept his things in order—even though he most certainly won't be visiting again." He chuckled at some private joke. From the look on Ryou's face, he didn't seem to think it was a joke he wanted to hear. "Okaasama was more sentimental than she liked us to think." The middle Kaiba put on his usual smirk. "She'd appreciate using it as a guest room. After all, we so rarely _have _them."

Ryou smiled nervously.

Sitting idly in front of the K-600m computer atop the oak desk, Noa crossed one leg over the other. "I notice you've been keeping to yourself. That's probably good. Aniki isn't much for dealing with people. That's probably _why _we don't have anybody around here most of the time, come to think of it." He bumped the computer's mouse with one knuckle, skittered across the keyboard for a moment, then chuckled to himself. _"Final Fantasy XI, _hm? Good to see you're making the best of things."

"I'm trying," Ryou admitted. He glanced over at the end table, where an old and battered Bible sat unceremoniously in the waning light from the only window. "It's still inside my head. My heart. The ring. It's all…still there."

Noa leaned back in the chair. "I'd be more concerned if he wasn't. You know better than anyone what that creature's capable of. We'll help you contain him. _I'll _help you contain him. I'm getting rather sick of ancient spirits interfering in this city."

"Are you sure it's safe? For me to be…here? You have so many people here. Your staff, and Miss Mayer, and Miss Eubank and Miss McKinley. And…and your brother."

Noa's expression turned serious. "Don't worry about Mokuba."

"But—but…I know that he's been through so much already. Fear, heartache, tragedy. All because of the Millennium Items. You know…you know that Bakari once had its sights on Mokuba. It wanted to…use Mokuba as its host."

Noa's eyes widened slightly. "I did _not _know that. When was this?"

Ryou fidgeted. "At…at Pegasus Crawford's island. When he was a body, and nothing else. When his—soul was taken. Bakari thought that it could make easy use of a host with no soul. With no…resistance."

Noa's scowl was sentient. "Is that right…?"

Ryou nodded. "You want to keep him safe. Right? Isn't…isn't that the most important thing? He's…he's the victim in all of this."

"There are a lot of victims," Noa said, suddenly standing up. "It just so happens that Mokuba is the most important of them for me, personally. Yes. But important decisions are never made with only the most important reason in mind. I've made that mistake before. I refuse to make it again."

Noa stepped into the doorway.

He turned, and spoke in a voice that Ryou had never heard before.

It was enough to melt glass.

"You're a victim, too. Ryou Bakura. Enough people have died because of those hunks of golden superstition. I swear to you, as a member of the Kaiba family, that you will not become one of them. Those under our roof are under our protection. There is no compromise. I say this to you, to your ring, and to the spirit hiding inside of it. _There is no compromise."_

He left.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

Seto and Mokuba were both still in the front parlor when Noa rejoined them. Thoughts kept entering the middle Kaiba's mind inadvertently, without permission, and he wasn't sure what to think about it. He was used to having ironclad control over his own mind, and yet he couldn't keep himself focused for very long these days.

He wondered why. The fact that he wondered why was troublesome. He was used to having answers, too.

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his stark-white slacks, Noa balanced on one foot and twisted his hips in something like a little dance. He looked up at Seto. "Ryou told me something interesting. Y'know back when you two were playing marionettes back on Crawford's island?" Noa mimed the stutter-step of a puppet. Seto scowled; Mokuba flinched. "He says Bakari, the ghost in his ring, had his sights on the little guy. He want hisself a empty vessel."

Seto's scowl deepened.

"Any ideas why he wouldn't go after _you?" _Noa asked his elder, sounding accusatory; like the spirit's choices were somehow _his _fault. "All that power and influence you got. Figure it'd be a better fit."

Seto calculated. Then he said, "No one would suspect Mokuba. He has nearly as much power and influence as I do, _through _me. Yet he hasn't the bad reputation, nor would Mutou or any of his flunkies suspect anything. A psychopath hiding behind a psychopath isn't particularly effective. A psychopath hiding behind a media darling is slightly more so."

"Media darling?" Mokuba asked quietly.

Noa frowned, then shrugged. "Huh. Makes sense. In any case, though, looks like I'm gonna have to keep a closer eye on him than I thought. Shame. Kid's really shaken up about this whole thing, y'know?"

"You've never struck me as the sort to feel sympathy for what amounts to a complete stranger," Seto muttered.

"What can I say? I'm spontaneous." Noa frowned. "Besides, I'm apathetic. Not heartless. He's damn near hyperventilating, here on the grounds with what he figures is a time bomb attached to his chest. You know that ring's _actually _attached to his chest now? It, like, melted itself onto him."

There was a moment of absolute, suffocating silence.

Noa wasn't sure what he expected as a response to this revelation. He supposed that he'd anticipated some sort of snide commentary about the nature of the Millennium Items, something about the Millennium Ring, specifically, or maybe even something about Ryou Bakura.

Perhaps he thought that Mokuba would gasp, or ask how that could happen.

He didn't expect to glance over at his elder's chair and find it empty.

Noa blinked, and actually did a double-take. "What the…fuck? _Seriously, _right now? You son of a bitch. I come in here and give you relevant information, and you just ignore me?"

He looked over at Mokuba, who was giving him an odd look. With a start, Noa realized that it was a look he couldn't read. Since when could Mokuba mask his emotions from _him? _He said, "The hell?"

Mokuba frowned. "Who are you talking to?" he asked. His voice was different. Even compared to what it had been thirty seconds ago, it was different. Darker. Deader.

"Who do you _think _I'm talking to?" Noa asked, much sharper than he'd intended.

"Look," Mokuba snapped, "I know I'm not some kind of _savant _or whatever, but I don't need you telling me how to do everything! I'm not _stupid!"_

What the…hell? Noa's brain recoiled, feeling like it was literally pushing itself into the back of his skull as if trying to escape. When he opened his mouth to speak, he meant to ask what was going on, what he was talking about, and where Seto could have gone, considering he hadn't left his chair in the past seven hours.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: "You're going to take that tone with me, then? Is that how this is going to go? Did I _call _you stupid? Don't put words in peoples' mouths, Mokuba. It's been getting you into enough trouble as it is."

"Oh, I'm gonna get in _trouble, _am I? Oh, no. Whatever will I do?" Mokuba asked snidely, and Noa realized that he _could _read the expression on his brother's face: it was bitterness. Something so foreign and out of place on the young Kaiba's face that Noa hadn't recognized it from the first, even though it was the one emotion that he knew empirically.

"Cute. We're going through _this _again."

Why was he saying this? Why did he not have control over his own thoughts? There had never been a moment in his conscious memory when he'd ever said anything other than exactly what he thought. Yet now, his mouth was working without his permission, without his guidance.

For the first time since his second life had begun, Noa Kaiba felt helpless.

"You know what?" Mokuba snarled, his voice a higher pitch than before. "Yes. _Yes, _damn it, we're going through _this _again! You think I _care _about consequences anymore? You think I care about _anything _anymore?! What is it, Noa? What do you really want to say to me? That you should be _good enough _for me? That I should just pick myself up by my bootstraps and _get over it? Why?!"_

Noa turned away, grateful at least that he was able to control his body, if not his speech. He said, "Because you're a _fucking Kaiba. _You're better than this, you were taught better than this, and I'll be _damned _if I'm going to watch you spit on that! Yes, I know you're _grieving. _Grieve on your own damn time. If you expect me to hold your hand and tell you everything's going to be okay, stroke your hair and rock you to sleep, then you don't know me very well. I'm not here to play nursemaid."

_"Why __**are**__ you here?!" _Mokuba screeched.

Noa whirled, unbidden by his own commands, and shouted back: _"_I'm here to make sure you don't _fuck up_everything he stood for! He put all of his faith, all of his trust, into _you. _God only knows why. All you've done for the past month is snivel and _bitch. _I'm here to put a stop to this. _Get used to it!"_

Upon seeing the look on his little brother's face, Noa forced his body to obey him, and bolted from the room.

For a moment, just for a flash, he'd actually felt the urge to hit the boy, with all the strength resting in his synthetic muscles. And even in the midst of this confusion, Noa knew what a blow like that would do.

It would decapitate him.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

Noa opened his eyes, and found himself on the floor of his bedroom.

He didn't have a bed in this room, because he didn't need one. He didn't _sleep. _Yet what else could he call it, opening his eyes like this without any memory of how he'd gotten here? He stood up, straightened his clothing, and looked around.

Someone was standing in the corner of the room.

There was no real form, no substance, to the figure. It was like Noa was looking at his own shadow, lounging around on its off-time. He could tell that this nebulous figure was looking at him.

Noa didn't believe in coincidences. "What the fuck did you do to me?"

There was no mouth, but there was a voice. The figure said, "I'm preparing you."

"Preparing me. And would you care to inform me, for _what?"_

"You know well enough that the gods have intervened. Your elder's mission to obtain the Golden Seven is about to begin. The only reason I am able to come here, and converse with you, and deliver this dream to you, is because no gauntlet has been thrown yet. He has yet to challenge another."

"I'm sure this is fun to you, but you should know that I'm not interested in riddles. You sound like Mutou. Or Seti. I'll tell you the same thing I told them: don't fuck with me."

"The last thing I intend to do is fuck with you. Know only this: what I have shown you is not a trick. It is not some hocus-pocus, as people in your age are wont to say. I have given you a glimpse of your own future. Prepare yourself for it. You have a part to play. In order for your elder to succeed, he will require assistance from every member of his court. You count among them."

"You're telling me that, in my own future, I'm going to treat my own brother like dirt. You really think I'm going to talk to him like that? Since you know so much, do you have _any _idea what he means to me? That boy is my _lifeline. _He's the only reason I'm here. The day I feel the urge to hurt him…"

He couldn't finish the thought.

The figure seemed to be smirking at him. "I know how much he means to you. Enough that you would do what must be done, in direct spite of what either of you would want. That is the only strength you have over your elder. The one thing you can do, that he cannot."

"In what universe is it considered a _strength _that I get so pissed at a little kid that I want to knock his teeth out? Do I look like Diamun? I'm not petty. I pay my debts. I owe that boy my life. That debt _will not _be paid with his blood."

"Are you telling me that you can think of _no _circumstance in which 'tough love,' as you might call it, would not be necessary for the youngling's survival?"

"Whatever. I'm done talking about this. I don't know what you are, but if you intend to haunt me, you should know that I don't crack easily. You're going to have to up your game."

Noa shook his head, blinked, and the shadowy figure was gone. He left his room, shut the door, and tried to ignore what his mind was telling him.

Back in the front parlor, he saw Seto hunched over his laptop, growling incoherently at something only he could see. Mokuba was huddled in one corner of the couch on the other side of the room, reading.

Mokuba looked up. "Hey, Noa," he said, positively chipper. "Find anything?"

"Yes," Seto muttered, staring up at him with a look that could curdle milk. "Do impart your wisdom."

Noa drew in a breath.

"…Ryou told me that Bakari, the spirit in the Ring, once had his eyes set on Mokuba. He's worried." Noa ruffled Mokuba's hair. "Might make him feel better if you went 'n talked to him, kiddo." Then he looked up at Seto. "I'm supposing I should keep watch, just in case our resident poltergeist gets any fresh ideas. But I gotta talk to you about something. Whenever you're done, let me know."

Seto frowned, looking confused for a moment. "You're uncharacteristically grim."

"What can I say?" Noa murmured somberly. "I'm spontaneous."

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**Verse Three was a dream sequence. It might be that that isn't specifically clear, since it starts off normal and just kind of transforms into something weird halfway through. There's not going to be much in the way of an explanation, but know that it will make sense . . . eventually.**_

_**That said, I hope you enjoyed this installment, and I look forward to sharing the rest of this book with you. Some of my favorite plot points from "Shifting Images" will get the full treatment here.**_

'_**Til next time, all.**_


	25. Grey Old Fellow

_**This chapter marks the beginning of a huge story arc, which will be the focus of this book. I wrote this between bouts of my recent work, but I think it remains strong in its message and its focus. Not to intimate that there's some deep, far-reaching meaning in this chapter, specifically. But I like to think that this project has a lot of meaning to it, as a whole, and this chapter pushes forward to the precipice of something I've been waiting to get to for years.**_

_**This juncture is where I really started having fun with "Shifting Images," and I'm sure it will be worth the wait to finally give it proper treatment in this version.**_

_**Let us begin.**_

* * *

**Verse One.**

* * *

"Excuse me. Mister Kaiba?"

Seto turned, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry, as was his habit. Kisara Mayer stepped up to him with a sort of quiet confidence that he wasn't used to seeing. Some part of him found this curious, but he figured that—having grown up with a prominent politician—she was used to dealing with people "in the spotlight."

"Yes?" Seto asked mildly, forcing down his bad mood by reminding himself that this woman, of her own accord, had put herself in the line of fire for no better reason than it was right to do it. She owed nothing to him, yet she had faced down his greatest, most cataclysmic failure.

Whether that was bravery or insanity, he had yet to determine. He supposed he respected both.

"Do you believe in this?" she asked, gesturing randomly. "All this Millennium Item business."

"I find myself with little in the way of an alternative," Seto said, lifting up the golden rod that felt so much like a set of shackles.

Kisara stared at it. "That…creature that had hold of you. The one everyone keeps calling an ancient spirit. It's in there?"

Seto smirked. Creature, indeed. "Evidently."

"And it's the same sort of thing that lives in Yugi Mutou's…puzzle."

Seto's smirk widened. "'Thing' is as good a descriptor as any."

"Do all of these artifacts have ghosts inside them? I heard something about there being _another _one inside something that Mister Bakura has."

"The Millennium Ring," Seto said, scowling when he felt that twinge of something that resembled longing again. He could feel the ring, feel its power and its tainted glory, singing out to him. "So I am told, yes. I don't know enough to say for sure about the others. I suppose I'll leave it at this: it wouldn't surprise me."

"Is…Seti quiet? Is he listening to your brother? Staying out of things?"

"So far, yes."

Kisara nodded. "Good. That's good. About as much as we can hope for right now, I guess. You know, I thought I was just coming along with a couple friends for fall break. Now we're invading your home because of haunted jewelry."

Seto shrugged. "Mokuba seems to enjoy having the extra company. I trust he hasn't bothered you."

Something passed Kisara's face, as though she might be wondering whether this was a test of some kind. Eventually, she said, "Not at all. Actually, to be honest, I haven't seen too much of him. He's asked a couple of times whether I'm comfortable, but that's about it."

"He prefers to play host, rather than permit me to do it." Seto chuckled. "I suspect he doesn't think I _could_ do it. He may be right."

This sparked curiosity in Kisara's face. She said, hesitantly this time, "I've heard…um, Renie tells me that you raised Mokuba all by yourself?"

"You sound incredulous."

"Oh! Oh, no, I don't mean it like that. It's just…well, I'm sure you know how much she and Katie admire you. I've started to wonder if they don't exaggerate sometimes. You know. Sing your praises a bit too fervently."

Seto inclined his head, as if to cede the point. "In this case, she was entirely correct."

Kisara seemed to consider something. "This is going to sound _really _weird, but…I'm taking a child development course? I have a project due in a couple of months, for the end of the semester. Do you think I might…interview you? About your—you know. Experiences as a single parent." She gestured randomly. "When and if this all calms down, of course."

Seto raised an eyebrow. "When and if this all calms down," he repeated, somehow managing to keep the sour look from his face as he wondered whether that would happen at all. "Truth be told, Miss Mayer, it's not often I'm asked to speak about my brother during interviews. Most outlets tend to be less than interested." He paused a moment. "Very well. I'll sit for an interview with you."

A beaming grin, surprisingly childlike, spread on the young woman's face. "Excellent! Thank you, Mister Kaiba! I really appreciate this."

She hesitated a moment, then held out her hand.

Seto shook it.

Again, he repeated: "When this all calms down."

Kisara nodded. "Of course!"

Seto turned, and spied Noa approaching from the other end of the hall. His expression turned grim. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to see about accelerating that."

Kisara followed his gaze, saw Noa, and nodded. "I see. All right, then. Thank you again!"

She left, with a noticeable spring in her step, tempered only slightly by the pensiveness in her eyes.

* * *

**Verse Two.**

* * *

"Okay, look, Aniki," Noa was saying, before he'd even closed the door behind himself, as he strode into Seto's office. "I know your tactic right now's to study up as much as you can on these things, but I think we gotta move. Quick-like."

Seto scowled; it wasn't often that the middle Kaiba spoke so darkly, and it had his attention. "Something sparked this urgency. What is it? Is this about Bakura?"

Noa shook his head. "No." He stopped, lowered his head, seeming to gather his thoughts.

Another thing that Noa didn't do often.

Eventually, he managed to articulate himself: "Something contacted me. Some kind of spirit. It was just this figure, black and smoky like one of the fuckin' Nazgûl or something. They're in the house."

Seto's fists clenched. "What did it want?"

"To scare me," Noa said dismissively. "Forced some kind of vision on me. Whatever. I don't care. I trust magic as much as I trust just about anything. Look, you remember what that god said, same as I do. It was talking in Mokuba's voice. I couldn't forget if I tried." Seto didn't respond. "It said you're tempered. It said you've been tested. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, apparently they think you're ready. I don't know what you're going to learn about these trinkets that you don't already know, but my guess ain't much. I say we kick this off. Go find one of the others. 'Challenge' them."

"One of the other 'holders of the Golden Seven,'" Seto said disdainfully.

"Crawford," Noa said, ticking off his fingers, "Ishtar, Mutou, Ryou. We know four of them already. As to the last two…"

"The Ankh and the Scales are held by one man," Seto said, seeming to growl, as though the fact that he knew this information were offensive. "Shadi. At least, that is the name that's been given to him."

"So you _did _find something in your excavation," Noa said, some hint of his usual joviality coming back.

"…In a sense," Seto replied. At Noa's questioning look, Seto shook his head and turned his attention to the wall. "I don't want Pegasus Crawford in this house," he muttered. "I also don't want Mokuba going to _him. _Not again." He turned his spitfire glare back to Noa, who straightened. "I'm going alone. If I'm to act now, then I intend to even an old score."

Noa smirked devilishly. "I think I like your style."

"It's obvious that I'm going to find no valuable information here. If these spirits have already seeped their way onto the grounds, there's no point in stalling any longer." He sighed. "I had better break this to Mokuba. If I leave without telling him, he'll just follow me. And _you _would probably let him."

Noa blinked. "Why, Aniki. Do you think me so _rash?"_

Seto pushed past his adoptive sibling. "At least if I tell him, I'll have a chance to put _some _modicum of sanity into this…this…"

"Cosmic stage show," Noa said slowly.

Seto stopped, stared at the floor for a moment, then wrenched open the door and stalked out into the hall.

Noa followed.

* * *

**Verse Three.**

* * *

"Hi, guys. What's up?"

Something about the chipper tone in Mokuba's voice stopped both his brothers short, and they were both hit by identical expressions of sudden agony that disappeared as quickly as they'd arrived; they looked more like twins than ever in that moment.

Seto's face hardened first, and he cleared his throat. "I intend to throw the gauntlet," he said, which made Noa flinch. Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. "No more studying or researching. I intend to act. Which means I must…challenge the other holders of Millennium Items directly."

"Okay…" Mokuba said slowly.

"I'm going alone," Seto said with quiet finality. "Noa will stay here. _You _will stay here." Mokuba opened his mouth to protest, but Seto held up a hand. "Mokuba. This is not a negotiation. You're staying here. Go to school, go to your mythology class. Play videogames, talk to Eubank, whatever. But you _will not _follow me. Am I clear?"

"But Niisama—"

_ "Am I clear?"_

Mokuba searched his brother's eyes, frowned, and lowered his head. Looking up again, almost pouting but not quite, he added, "Promise you'll be okay."

Seto most pointedly did not smirk; his face showed nothing. He said, "I promise you, on everything I have ever believed, that I will. These artifacts will not claim me. I will conquer this, and I'll be back. Wait for me."

Mokuba stared sulkily.

"I mean it, Mokuba. _Wait _for me."

Something passed over the black-haired boy's face that looked suspiciously like offense, but it passed quickly. The youngest Kaiba leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and tented his fingers over his lap. A sudden, mischievous twinkle sparked in his eyes. "…I _might _be convinced to do what you're asking. If you make it…worth my while."

Seto blinked, stared, then sighed. He gestured dismissively. "What do you want?"

"A DS Lite. And _Pokémon Diamond." _A pause. "Make that _Diamond _and _Pearl. _I can use my old DS to trade with myself."

Seto remained stone-faced; he stole a glance at Noa as though he might find some answer in his pseudo-sibling's face as to what he should do, or say. Sighing again, Seto crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?" he asked, exasperated.

Mokuba smiled devilishly. "A hug."

Seto rolled his eyes and strode forward. Mokuba stood up, wrapped his arms around his brother's neck. The strength of his grip belied the glibness in his voice. He whispered: "You have to come back, Niisama. You _have _to."

"I will," Seto replied.

This ritual completed, Seto turned toward the door. He glanced at Noa again. "I'm leaving immediately. I believe you have some shopping to do."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "Caving to his demands, are you?"

Seto's expression insulted the very idea of speaking.

"All right. All right. What Mokuba-sama wants, Mokuba-sama gets. I hear you."

Mokuba looked suddenly terrified. "Wait. Seriously? You're gonna get me a—I was just joking! I'll stay here, Niisama! I'll stay right here, I promise!"

Seto left the room without responding. The look in his eyes just before he disappeared into the hallway, however, looked something suspiciously like an apology. Noa quirked an eyebrow at his young sibling. "If it makes you feel any better, how about _I _take one of 'em off your hands? You can trade with me."

"…Thanks. I guess. Where's he going?" His voice hitched into something high-pitched and pitiful. "Who's he…challenging first?"

Noa stepped toward the doorway, following his elder's path for a moment before saying: "Best not to ask that one, kiddo. Leave _something _to the imagination. We'll find out when he comes back with the spoils of war. Now c'mon. We got ourselves a mall to conquer."

"…I really _was _joking, Noa. Niisama doesn't just randomly buy me things 'cuz I ask him. I mean, I know we're not hurting for money or anything, but seriously. This is—why would he…?"

"If he was going to be randomly generous to anyone, at any point in his personal history, I'm pretty sure it would be to you, right now. But if you want to be cynical about it, there's a pretty obvious reason: he's serious about you staying home. Wherever he's off to, whatever he's gonna do, he doesn't want you involved."

"If it's that dangerous, then I should be there!" Noa sighed, and started walking down the hall; Mokuba trotted to catch up to him. "Noa! I'm serious! I should—"

"Mokuba…" There was something in the way the middle Kaiba said his brother's name that stopped Mokuba short. "Don't forget who you're talking to. I know pretty damn well the kind of support system you've got with your Niisama, okay? Some people, they'd ask what you really think you're gonna do to help him. I know better than to ask. Still, I'm gonna lay some _truth _on you, here: you'll be more of a help to him if you stay out of harm's way, and let him focus. If this was something even halfway normal, maybe you'd convince me. But this is magic. If you're with him, he'll spend every ounce of effort on making sure _you're _safe, instead of taking care of himself. Don't try to tell me he won't, either, 'cuz he's been doing it his entire life."

Mokuba flinched. "But…"

"I don't say this. I've never said this—it's insulting—but have faith in the man. I mean, it's not like he hasn't earned it." Noa smirked. "Now, then, let's go buy something shiny to distract you for a while."

Mokuba followed his brother, but couldn't quite banish his sense of foreboding.

* * *

**Verse Four.**

* * *

They sat across from each other at a lavish table, and made eye contact for the first time in years. Ever the gracious host, Pegasus Crawford had laid out enough food to feed a small country. Seto had yet to touch a single bite of it.

"I was given to understand you're something of a traditionalist," Pegasus offered by way of conversation. "Did you know that Crouquet has been trained by some of the best chefs in Japan? Are you _certain_ you wouldn't like to partake?"

"Don't insult me, Crawford," Seto said scathingly, though his facial expression was entirely noncommittal. "I'm not here to share lunch with you, to say nothing of a lunch so thoroughly clichéd. I've taken you for many things, but an idiot has never been one of them."

Pegasus shrugged. "True. Business executives conversing over sushi and miso soup _is _rather trite. Still, I'd hope you wouldn't insult my intelligence. I know very well that you have a fondness for the, ah, subtle alchemy of Japanese cooking." Pegasus shifted his weight slightly, and a glint of gold shimmered through his hair. "Or did you forget what this eye of mine can do?"

"I'm well aware," Seto said slowly.

"And are you aware of _why _you're here, specifically?" Pegasus asked. "Something to do with challenging those of us with Millennium Items, I believe. So, do you know what that means?"

"I was hoping it would involve digging that eye out of your skull with a grapefruit spoon," Seto muttered.

Pegasus laughed. "Unfortunately, no. I suppose, since you've come to me first of all, it is my particular honor to give you the details. We wouldn't want you going into this blind, after all. You've been chosen by the gods, Kaiba-boy. It's quite an honor."

"Spare me. I'm not some new convert. I have just as little use for gods as I always have. I'm jumping through hoops because I've been left with no other workable alternative. So if you intend to crack a whip and make me dance, then get on with it." Seto's eyes glittered with something that might have been amusement. "Just think: you won't even have to use my brother as leverage this time."

Pegasus flinched violently, and he closed his visible eye for a moment. When he opened it again, his gaze was sharp, hard, and the amusement had left him. "I won't insult you by apologizing for my conduct on the island, nor by wasting your time any longer." He stood up. "The Millennium Items are more than jewelry, more than artifacts. They are conduits into a deeper consciousness, a wider power, than most people understand. Let us take the Egyptian pantheon at face value, as an exercise. Shall we?"

Seto gestured. "Fine."

"You could do worse than to think of the Items as tethering us to them," Pegasus continued. "We six, we happy six, are lucky enough to have a direct line to the gods, and your task is to use that fact as…well, a roadmap."

"And my destination…?"

"That, Kaiba-boy, is your choice. You might elect to mimic your predecessor, and put them to sleep. Or you might take the other path and wake them up. If you complete the tasks laid out for you, and prove to the Items that you deserve to make that choice, of course."

"So the Items themselves _are _sentient." Seto looked disgusted. "Plenty of 'theorists' have posited that idea."

"It would seem that they are, yes." Pegasus reached up, and tucked his curtain of hair behind his ear, revealing the Millennium Eye. "They will not simply come to you, Kaiba-boy. You must prove to them that you are better fit to claim them than their chosen owners."

"And how would you suggest I do that?"

"You must prove, in thought, word, and action, that you are fit to shoulder the burden they represent. Yugi-boy did this the old-fashioned way." Pegasus flipped a _Magic & Wizards _card from a pocket into his hand. "But I hear you've retired. So we'll be doing things differently this time around." He put the card away and gestured to his golden eye. "This eye of mine represents desire. Through it, we see what we wish to see, so intimately that people often cannot notice the difference. It does this to teach, to mold, to test. That is what I will do. I will show you what you wish to see, and you will be required to act…accordingly. If you pass this test, my eye is yours. Simple, isn't it?"

Seto's eyes narrowed. "Deceptively so."

Pegasus's eyes twinkled. "Don't misread me, Kaiba-boy. Just because it's simple doesn't mean it will be easy. The Millennium Eye is rather demanding. So, do you understand? You will be given a test, a task to complete, by each of us. Each will teach a new lesson, that you must learn in order to take the Golden Seven in hand. It's something like a Shadow Game. Only…without the game."

Seto sighed heavily, shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. "I highly doubt that I do understand, Crawford. Where magic is concerned, my perspective has always been rather…skewed. Let's just get started. I'm getting tired of waiting." He glared hotly at his old enemy. "The welfare of my family hinges on this," he added before Pegasus had a chance to speak. "If you tell me that I have to learn _patience_ before I am to succeed in this, I'll go back to my first plan and find serrated cutlery."

Pegasus chuckled. "I would never be so presumptuous. Let us begin."

The air was lit aflame with golden fire, and Seto felt the deepest core of himself twitch with sudden, magnificent anticipation. Then everything went black, and he knew nothing.

* * *

**END.**

* * *

_**I'll admit to having some difficulty when it comes to writing Pegasus. I don't have much experience with him, particularly when he's being his very peculiar version of friendly. One has to wonder what he has up his sleeve for this "test." **_

_**Next chapter, we'll find out together. Knowing this particular tycoon, it won't be easy, and it certainly won't be anything resembling normal. Seto has drawn a line in the sand with his old enemy, and now all we can do is watch, and wait, to see what happens.**_

_**Until next time, be good to one another.**_


End file.
